


That Which We Dare

by DayandKnight



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, F/M, Period-Typical Sexism, Political Alliances, Psuedo-Medieval AU, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-05-18 08:55:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 37,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14849714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DayandKnight/pseuds/DayandKnight
Summary: When Olivier Armstrong is married to a brutish prince to secure an alliance, she knows she's becoming a prisoner in the name of peace; what she isn't counting on is slow-blooming affection.Buccaneer expects a shy and quiet young bride, and is instead faced with a fierce and determined woman. But, the love he hopes for may not be so far away.Yes, it's an arranged marriage AU.





	1. A Night to Forget

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovelies!
> 
> I know the last thing I should be doing is starting /another/ wip, but I wanted to and so I did.
> 
> This fic is dedicated to a friend who needs a little cheering up just now. You know who you are, love. <3 
> 
> Happy reading!

Deep breath. There was no room to be afraid, to make a mistake. Not on the day of such an important wedding. Olivier Armstrong tried to return her mother's encouraging smile, but she was pretty sure it just looked like a grimace. The handmaid working on her hair gave a sharp yank and she hissed through her teeth.

“Just a little while longer, dear. You need to look perfect.”

Olivier said nothing, both of them knowing that was the reason no breakfast had been brought up--so her dress could be laced that little bit tighter--but neither willing to start a fight on what could well be the last day they saw each other. Political marriages didn't allow for sentiment, after all. It wasn't that she was ugly, it was just that this was the most important wedding of the century, securing an alliance with the secretive, and wealthy, people that were all that stood between them and Drachma. There could be no mistakes, no missteps, at least until the marriage was finalized. 

“It'll be alright, Livvie, just remember what I told you.” Her mother paused, clearing her throat, “and  _ try  _ to smile; you look miserable.”

She inclined her head, “yes, Mother.” She tried again to fix her face in a pleasant smile, but her mother's sigh told her it didn't work. Nevermind that she was miserable, offending her soon to be groom, or his family wouldn't do. As much as she hated being married off like a particularly disappointing pawn, she knew it was Amestris’ best chance at not being overtaken by their massive neighbors, and she loved her country too much to risk it for her own comfort. As soon as it had become clear the “secretive and barbaric” nation that was not only well situated, but flush with natural resources was looking for an alliance, she with “the look of a queen and the bearing of a stablehand” had been the court’s first choice. With her shoulders squared and her chin up, she was prepared for the life of a political prisoner rather than a wife. 

“Maybe he won't be so bad,” Amue had suggested gently when her parents returned from the negotiation and pronounced the prince to be wild in countenance, but serious. She had acquiesced to appease her sister, but had seen in her parents’ eyes that they did not think so. 

As long as the tiny nation had been their neighbor, spanning the Briggs’ mountain range like a fortress, they’d been mysterious. She had heard every rumor and every bit of gossip about the people, and while she was smart enough to not believe everything, she still had no idea what was true. 

“Stand straight, love, chin up.” She straightened, slowly, taking her father’s extended arm. Her mother pulled the beaded veil over her face and slipped into place behind them as the doors slowly swung open. The walk up to the altar was long and every step felt like a death march. It was traditional for the mother to walk behind the bride and her father, but for the first time she wondered if it was to keep the bride from turning and running. 

She knelt on the cushioned step and allowed the veil to be lifted, raising her gaze to meet her groom’s for the first time. For a split second she thought the man hadn’t bothered to kneel, but after a moment she realized the veritable bear beside her  _ had  _ knelt, he was simply so tall he towered over her regardless. 

He barely glanced at her, his eyes fixating instead on the officiant. She turned her face toward the altar herself, but she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes focused. Maybe it was the absence of food, the heavy embroidered gown, the thousands of incensed candles, or just the fact she was being sold off like a fattened cow, but she was feeling considerably less brave and considerably more faint than before. 

She couldn’t remember the ceremony, it was a blur of rising and kneeling, candles and chanting, and suddenly she was being ushered into a back room. A group of women, none of whom she recognized, were pulling pins out of her hair and undoing the stays of her dress, pulling a different kind of traditional garment onto her, braiding her hair, and painting her face. They pushed her in front of a mirror and she didn’t recognize herself, but she only had a moment to look before she was tugged into another side room and the women melted away. 

She turned and it was a good thing the fur-lined tunic and trousers were looser than her corset had been because the shock made her gasp. He was standing there, huge and imposing, arms crossed, frowning down at her. He shifted, an expression she didn’t know how to categorize crossing his face.

“You look nice.” Olivier bit back a retort and only nodded her head, feigning shyness. No mistakes, no missteps. He frowned and held out his hand--the flesh one, she noticed, not the one replaced by a sorcery Amestris was eager to learn--and she slipped hers into it. “We should go.” She nodded and they stepped out together. A united front. Two nations coming together. 

The cheers at their presence started off the celebrations that she knew would last for hours, even after she and--she glanced at her new husband suddenly, Buccaneer wasn’t it? She supposed she ought to know--had departed. The light-headed feeling was back, but she squared her shoulders and turned back to attempt smiling at their well-wishers. 

She found herself standing off to the side, watching the goings-on and trying to talk herself out of just eating everything in sight, when she noticed Buccaneer talking to a man who looked very much like him. They both looked over at her and she forced herself to look down and away again, keeping up her facade of sweet shyness, while her mind raced. As unreadable as Buccaneer was, she could read the look on the other man’s face clear as day. She took another steadying breath, and sent a silent prayer to any diety who might listen, that the rumors she had heard about their tendency to  _ share  _ were false _. _

\---

Buccaneer found the quietest place he could to try and fade into the background, something that was hard enough on a normal day and was now nearly impossible. He watched Olivier, who looked angry as could be, and felt a twinge of something like guilt and pity. The marriage was of his own volition, a decision he had made to better the position of his country, but he had no guarantee that it had been  _ her  _ choice. He’d been surprised when she hadn’t even come to the negotiations herself, her parents coming with a handful of other courtesans to make the arrangements.

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes when he saw his brother making his way over. The arm around his shoulder was expected and he shoved it off with ease, earning a chuckle. 

“Well, what do you think?” Buccaneer gave a noncommittal noise in response, shrugging one shoulder. His brother, of course, kept talking as though it had been an encouragement. “Looking at her, I wish I was the one getting married tonight.”

“We’re making a political alliance,” Buc fixed his brother with a steely look, “that doesn’t work if you use and abuse your ally, then toss them aside for your newest conquest.” 

“Still,” he leered at the bride, “look at that-”

“Don’t  _ start _ .” 

“Right. Let you get your fill-”

“I’m serious,” he lowered his voice to a deadly growl, “this is something that we cannot afford to have you ruin.” 

Whatever his brother intended to say, it was cut off by the arrival of their mother, who arched her brows at them, and then smiled gently at the favored son. “It’s time.”

He swallowed and nodded, following her across the room to take the hand of his new wife. His least favorite part of all weddings was this. He’d always pitied the couples that had to stand in the middle of the room, having blessings for their wedding night rained down on their heads, then leaving to act on those blessings, fully aware that everyone knew what was happening. Now, he and a woman he had never even seen before, had to endure the ritual and he had no idea what to expect after.

\---

They’d stayed in North City, and spent their preparation time confined to a few small rooms, leaving Olivier with no idea where to go or what would be there when she got there. Her husband led her by the hand and she wasn’t sure if he was hurrying or if it was just his long legs but she had to step quickly to avoid being dragged. The halls he led her down were simple, but not inelegant, with high wooden ceilings, candle sconces, and tapestries, a detail that surprised her given she’d been lead to believe the finer arts were lost on the Briggs’ Mountain people. 

She almost didn’t realize they’d arrived until Buccaneer released her hand and turned to close and--her heart sank into her stomach--bolt a heavy wooden door behind them. No mistakes, no missteps. She drew a breath, squared her shoulders, and surveyed the room. It was reasonably large with an impressive four-postered bed as a focal point. But there were two chairs and a little table situated in front of a large fireplace, and two chests and two wardrobes.

“Do you not keep separate chambers?” The question flew from her lips, more harshly than she meant. After the arrangements an elderly woman had been brought to tutor her on the culture and etiquette, but she’d spent most of their time nit-picking her accent and insisting she ate too much, resulting in Olivier having very little knowledge.

“What?” The big man frowned at her.

“In Amestris, husbands and wives keep separate chambers. Do you not do that here?”

“Why would we do that? Nights here are cold.” 

She turned away without comment, trying to force down the unease that that statement prompted and her gaze landed on the bag her mother had packed for her. She moved toward it, opening it carefully and examining the contents. A letter rested on top and she pulled it out, breaking the familiar wax of her mother’s seal. 

_ “My dearest daughter, _

_ If you’re reading this, then a new chapter in your life is about to begin. I can’t even begin to tell you how proud of you I am. Even so, there’s no point in pretending now that this will be easy. I’ve included everything I could think of that may be of use to you. Best wishes, my child.” _

She looked into the bag, almost afraid, and found her mother really had prepared

anything and everything she thought she might need. First there was a nightgown, soft and nearly sheer, then bottles of lotions, perfumes, and even a balm in case she bled, not to mention a little blade in case she didn’t. Holding the bag in tightly clenched fists, she turned back to her husband who was watching her curiously. 

“I require privacy to-” she cleared her throat in what she hoped was a delicate manner, “ _ prepare.” _

To her amazement, a blush crossed his features. “I can-” he glanced around, “I’ll just turn around.” 

She kept an eye on him the entire time that she slipped off the new garments and pulled on her nightgown. She took her time undoing her braids and wiping the paint off her face, drawing it out as long as she could. At last, she was clean and prepared for bed. 

“You may turn around now.” She tried to sound soft and sweet, the way her mother told her to, but she knew she sounded cold as ice. Nevertheless, he did so, blush impossibly deepening.

He cleared his throat, eyes sweeping over her, “you look,” he cleared his throat again, averting his eyes, “wow.”

She crossed her arms, tried to formulate a response, and shook her head. She didn’t consider herself a vain woman, but the least he could do was  _ try  _ to woo her before he took his pleasure from her. The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach intensified and she swallowed. They both stood there in silence, her staring at him and him studying the floor until she couldn’t take it anymore. She turned and slid between the heavy covers--a mix of fur and embroidered feather downs--and tried to relax per the directions her mother had given her the night before, but found fear tightening every muscle in her body. 

The big man made his way over slowly and she fought the urge to strike him as he crawled in beside her. She prided herself on being the sort of woman who could take care of herself, no matter how much the court disapproved, but her people needed this alliance to work out, and she couldn’t let them down. Her pain, her humiliation, was a small price to pay for the safety and welfare of Amestris. 

She forced herself to stare up at the ceiling as the bed shifted, settling under his weight. She wouldn’t allow herself to close her eyes, or avert her face, but was determined to meet her fate head on. No tears, no cries of pain or sorrow. No mistakes, no missteps. Her fingernails pressed into her palms, as she forced her hands to stay at her sides; to not fly up and protect herself from rough hands. 

Seconds ticked into minutes and her fearful anger gave way to confusion. She turned her head to find Buccaneer simply laying beside her, watching her. She stared back, wondering if he was expecting her, for some reason, to make the first move. She certainly had no intentions to give him the satisfaction. 

Another unreadable expression crossed his face, and then he reached up and brushed the back of one knuckle across her forehead. She pulled back slightly, frowning in confusion and he withdrew his hand.

“Goodnight,  _ nula _ .”

Before she even had a chance to respond, he rolled over, turning his broad back to her. More than a little confused, she did the same. His breathing leveled out slowly before giving way to loud snores. Then, and only then, did she bury her face in her pillow and let silent tears fall.


	2. By Light of Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, which I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Happy reading!

He woke before she did, and watched her curiously. She had burrowed deep into the covers and her face was barely visible between the coverlets and her mass of gold locks. The color fascinated him, an anomaly among the people he was surrounded by. He reached a cautious hand out and pulled a lock into his fingers. He tried to be gentle, but must have tugged because her face wrinkled and she moved away, shifting perilously close to the edge and he dropped the lock, guiltily. 

He rose quietly with the stealth of a hunter and carefully opened the door. A nod to the waiting servant was all it took for the girl to scurry away and fetch breakfast for them. He waited patiently by the door, and it took very little time for her to return with laden trays. He nodded once more and slipped back in. He settled in one of the cozy chairs beside the fire and waited. 

She woke up all at once, sitting up and gasping as though she’d been drowning. Her blue eyes were wide with something he thought might be fright, but then as suddenly as she woke, her face went blank and she drew a steadying breath.

“Good morning,  _ nula. _ ” He smiled at her as she looked around, getting her bearings. “Come, eat.”

She nodded, slipping out of bed and moving towards him. She moved quietly, steadily, more like a fighter than anything and he noted the information for the future. As she sank down her stomach grumbled loudly and he smiled.

“Hungry?” Her face flushed slightly and she nodded. He gestured toward the table with his head, “come on, there's plenty.” 

She ate slowly and gracefully, but in a way that struck him as forced. She set her fork down and tore her gaze from a fruit tart that was still on the tray, untouched, and smiled up at him. “Is there a plan for today?”

“It’s customary to spend the day alone together getting to know one another.”

“Of course,” she inclined her head, but not before he caught the look of annoyance on her face. 

He pushed the tart toward her, and smiled when she frowned up at him. “Take it.” She frowned at him for a moment, before taking and devouring the tart. “There’s more,” he gestured toward the other trays.

“I’m alright, but thank you.” 

He nodded, not sure what else to say. He hadn’t accounted for this part of the arrangement very well. He had always been bashful around women, so in some ways, an arranged marriage had been his best hope for tying the knot at all. On the other hand, now there was a strange woman in his life, in his chambers, and in his  _ bed _ . 

She had her head down, watching him through her lashes, but he didn’t believe the bashful act for a moment, there was too much anger and tension in her for it. The way she carried herself and the way she had had to hold herself back when she’d been sure he’d was going to hurt her were indicative of an assuredness and an ability to handle herself that contradicted her apparent timidity. Watching her watching him, he realized she was shivering, unused to the morning chill, and certainly not dressed for it in only a thin nightgown.

He felt her eyes on him as he rose and crossed the chamber to collect his cloak from the top of the chest where he’d left it the night before. He draped it around her shoulders earning another of her confused frowns. 

“Ah, thank you.” She ducked her head again, pulling the fur-trimmed garment around herself tightly. “You’re very kind.” 

The remark stung slightly, though whether that was her intention or not, he was unsure. “I didn’t realize your view of me was so dim.”

“I’m sorry?” She tilted her head, questioningly, but her eyes glinted dangerously.

“Surely, you did not expect that I would fail to meet your most basic needs,” he clarified, getting to his feet again, suddenly not wanting to sit any longer. 

“I had no such expectation,” she spoke softer, shifting in her seat, “I apologize.”  

He felt immediately guilty for rising when he had and for taking offense where none was likely intended. She had shifted so that any sudden blows would fall on her shoulder and arm, her body positioned to avoid striking her head or neck if she was knocked out of her chair; she expected violence and his stomach tightened painfully. He had always been rather sensitive, as much as he tried to hide and deny it, and his reaction had been both uncalled for and unintentionally alarming.

“Of course,” he nodded, trying to seem calm and harmless. It didn’t seem to work because she remained in her tense and strategic pose, even as she smiled and murmured something soft in response. “Would you like to take a turn in the garden?”

She blinked at him a moment, a frown starting to form before she appeared to relax slightly. “I would like that, yes.” 

They dressed with their backs to one another, and she took his arm when he offered it, heading out to the gardens together. He moved more slowly now that he wasn’t so nervous, and she seemed to appreciate it. 

The gardens were built on a series of manmade plateaus that staggered and wove along the back of the palace to both match the surrounding land and take advantage of the most sunlight and least wind so near the peak. Low parapets protected both workers and courtesans from tumbling between the levels, but left the view unobstructed.

He smiled as she looked over the gardens, the smallest of smiles on her own face, which she turned up toward the sun, breathing in the sweet scent of fresh air and the various plants growing throughout. He thought she looked even lovelier this way, out in the sun, smiling peacefully, and in a simpler gown. It was in the Amestrian style, and she wore her hair long, gold almost shining against the deep blue wool, white fur cuffs and stole providing the warmth she needed in the cool mountain air. 

“Do you like it?”

“It’s lovely, could we go further in?” 

“Of course.” 

The steps were narrow and they couldn’t walk beside one another, but he offered her his arm as she navigated the slick stones. As he suspected, she didn’t seem to need it, her steps solid and confident, her balance expert. He might have known little about women, but he knew a trained swordsman when he saw one. He gripped her upper arm, ostensibly for support, as she came around a particularly slippery corner and felt solid muscle beneath his fingers. When they came to a place to look out he slipped an arm around her shoulders and settled his hand in what he hoped was a casual way on her left arm, feeling the tension in her back and shoulders. Her right was almost certainly her swordarm, but there was no doubt in his mind she could fight with the left, too. 

“You don’t have to do that.”

She turned her head to him, her voice still soft, falsely shy, “do what?”

“Hold yourself like you’re about to be struck. I won’t raise a hand to you.”

She smiled, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”   

They stood in silence, then, watching the clouds moving across the top of the valley below them, neither her smile nor her posture changing. Heights, even after growing up on the mountaintop made him nervous, but she seemed perfectly at ease with the height, even slipping out from under his arm to go to the edge and look over curiously. He was on the verge of asking her to step back, for his own peace of mind, when one of his mother’s maids arrived and with a swift curtsy announced that she had requested an audience, surprising in and of itself, in light of tradition, and more surprisingly with Olivier rather than himself.

\---

She wasn’t alone in the receiving room, her elder sister with her, both eyeing Olivier speculatively as she stepped through the door. The maid curtsied again and melted away, the door swinging shut behind her.

“Come here, child, let us look at you.” She went silently and Buccaneer’s mother rose, taking her chin in one hand. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?” 

“So, I’ve been told,” she replied, coolly. The woman may have been tall, her presence foreboding, but so was her own mother. She wouldn’t be intimidated, even as the woman’s nostrils flared in displeasure.   

“An insolent tongue is an unattractive feature in a young woman.” 

Olivier bit the inside of her cheek and said nothing, not an easy thing when she could think of a million insults to hurl back at the woman. 

“What do you think, Nannette?” Her head was turned back and forth, but she made no move to break away from the woman’s pinching grasp.

Nannette rose too and nodded appraisingly. “As you say, Clarese, a pretty thing.”

“I was worried when they didn’t bring her to the negotiations.” Both women were looking at her, but speaking about rather than  _ to _ her. Clarese released her chin and stepped back. “I did so want Buccaneer to be happy.” She smiled thinly, "still, he could have done worse."

Nannette nodded and circled around her, eyeing her thoughtfully. “How much are you wearing under that gown, child?”

“I beg your pardon?” Her response may have been phrased as a question, but there was a deadly finality to it. 

“You’re only wearing a chemise and corset? Not tight-laced or padded?”

“I have no handmaid, I certainly could not have tight-laced my corset myself, and I have no need of padding.” 

The women exchanged a glance at that. “Good hips for birthing, if she speaks the truth.” Nannette commented, still eyeing her critically. Olivier resisted the urge to break her nose, reasoning that doing so would  _ not _ improve international relations.  

“Indeed,” apparently satisfied with their inspection, Buccaneer’s mother returned to her chair and gestured for the other two to sit as well. Nannette went, but Olivier remained standing, eyes fixed angrily on the woman.

“You needn’t look so sour, child; you must understand our concern. Amestris is not so large as Drachma, an alliance with you is a gamble, and if not for your father’s considerable donations to the king’s war chest, we might have chosen Drachma. They, at least, had a princess to offer. A minor one, granted, but you are only the daughter of a lord and you are wed to our crown prince.”

“Am I to understand this negatively impacts my position here?”

The older sister laughed, “she’s intelligent as well, Clarese!”

“Be seated, child, have a cup of tea, and I will make your position here  _ very _ clear.” 

Olivier sat and took the proffered porcelain cup, watching her husband’s mother as she brought the cup to her lips but did not drink.

“Being that you are intelligent, I’m certain you understand your presence here is an assurance that our negotiations with King Bradley and Amestris continue to go well.” 

“I understand that, yes.” She lowered the undrunk tea.

“That needn’t mean your time here is miserable, mind.” Clarese sipped her own tea, “there are a few rules you must obey, and then we’ll be the best of friends.” 

“Which are?”

“You’ll have free access to your chambers, the gardens, the music halls, and any of the other public spaces, but the meeting halls and planning chambers are restricted, you may attend only escorted by myself or my son.” She waited long enough for Olivier’s nod before carrying on, “on the subject of my son, I would have prefered you to have married his brother, but seeing as he is, well, you'll understand soon enough,” she paused, “I expect you to ensure my son is-” she paused, tilting her head thoughtfully, “ _ satisfied. _ ”

“Are you quite serious?!” Olivier felt her temper flare, along with heat in her cheeks.

“We need an heir and there may be  _ no _ question of its validity.” 

Nannette smiled at her, a little more gracious than her sister, “don’t look so embarrassed, dear, it’s the nature of the wife, isn’t it?” 

“I-!”

“That brings us to one last thing, your parents assured of us your virginity, but we want to be sure ourselves.”

Olivier said nothing, mind racing. They obviously had something in mind, but she wasn’t certain what. The door opened and a maid entered, carrying a bundle of fabric that she recognized as the bedsheets from the night before. They had done nothing so, there would be nothing to show. Should she admit upfront and risk their anger, or-? 

The maid shook out the sheets revealing a few smears of dried blood. Olivier tried to mask her confusion as the other two women nodded. Clarese waved a hand, and the maid folded the sheets again and curtsied. 

Buccaneer was standing in the doorway when she exited, his face seemingly angry, but Olivier still was unsure of how to interpret his expressions.

“Have we taken your bride away for too long, my dear?” Clarese asked, even as she extended a hand to him and they kissed each other’s cheeks. He spoke to her quietly for a moment and then she nodded.

He turned back to Olivier and extended a hand. She took it, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet gratefully. She looped her arm through his and walked with him back down the halls, and into an entirely different set of receiving chambers.

“Oh, do we have to speak with someone else?”

He frowned at her for a moment, before he seemed to understand something and smiled broadly. “No, these are our chambers.”

“What?” 

“Last night we slept in the ceremonial wedding night room, now we move into our own chambers.” She stared at him and he chuckled.

Perhaps it was because she was still angry or because she was confused and upset, regardless, she snapped “was that supposed to be obvious?!” She drew a steadying breath as he blinked in surprise. “I apologize, I don’t know what came over me.”

“It wasn’t my mother and aunt examining their investment?” He tilted his head, smiling again, “I’m not as foolish as I appear.”

“You’re an enigma,” she replied after a moment, “but I do not think you a fool.”

He nodded, once again falling silent. He looked around for a moment, then indicated the far door. “Would you like to see our new chambers?” 

Anxiety spiked in her core again, but she nodded. The chamber was about the same size as the wedding night one had been, and the bed, while still large, was not nearly so ostentatious. The chairs by the fire were cozier and the whole place seemed warmer, somehow. Perhaps it was that she was less frightened, or that her belongings had been brought in in full, whatever the reason she felt calmer.

“I hope my mother didn’t frighten you too much.” 

“No, not at all.”

“She’s-” he paused for a moment, “a difficult woman, at first, but she isn’t as harsh as she may seem.”

“Oh?” She bit the inside of her cheek and then went on, faux-lightly, “she was determined to be certain that I was truthful. I am not certain I want to know what would have happened if the sheets had been clean.” She fixed him with a cool stare; he blushed again, deeply. “Why weren’t they?” 

He crossed his arms, defensively. “It was none of their concern.”

A ghost of a smile twitched across her lips, “You don’t want them to know you didn’t finish it.”

“They wouldn’t have believed me.”

Her smile flickered away, fast as it had come. “They would have started a war.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Please let me know what you think. :)


	3. A Misunderstanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies, I have another chapter for you!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy.
> 
> Warning: Some discussion of domestic violence. Nothing graphic, but stay safe.

Days began to run together, Olivier finding a rhythm, however mind-numbing, to keep her stable and oriented. Breakfast was brought to their chambers and they ate together, talking little but finding silence peaceable enough. After breakfast, Buccaneer left to meet with ministers and advisors while she went out to the gardens. The midday meal was shared with family members and afterwards she explored the parts of the palace she was allowed in, though she was too stubborn to ask  for directions to the one thing she really wanted to find: the library. Evenings brought supper in the Great Hall with the whole of the court, and generally some form of entertainment. She spent most of the time simply observing the courtesans, learning them and their ways, until, at last, Buccaneer was ready to retire and they returned to their chambers together, prepared to begin again. 

Her first letter from home felt like a warm embrace in the icy North and she wanted to cry as she broke the seal (for the second time--she didn’t miss the fact that the seal had been broken and resealed) and began poring over the words from her mother. The missive was innocuous to a fault, updates on family life that could not be linked to politics and reminders to be strong, that she was loved, missed. 

In a brief flight of fancy, she kissed the letter and held it to her chest, knowing full well that no matter what superstition said, the writer would not feel her love through the action, but feeling soothed by it all the same. Letters were not something she typically wasted much time or energy on, knowing how simply the truth could be spun in ink. Regardless, she forced herself to accept the words as truth and not seek further meanings. Sweet Amue was being courted and it was going well, Strongine was becoming quite accomplished, Alex was continuing his training to join the Royal Regiments as soon as he was old enough, and Catherine, fragile little Catherine, was healthy, a glow in her cheeks that they had never seen before. 

“News from home?” Buccaneer had entered the room while she was reading, and she had scarcely noticed in her euphoria.

She lowered the letter almost guiltily, “yes.” She smiled softly, falsely, “did you want to read it?” He frowned at her and she continued, “or have you done so, already?” 

“I-” he paused a moment, appearance almost embarrassed, “I cannot read your language.” 

“Oh!” Her surprise was genuine, perhaps the most truthful emotion she had shown him yet, “I thought-” she cleared her throat, “nevermind. All is well at home, and that is all that matters.”

“Do you miss it?” He sat on the edge of the bed and began pulling off his boots, shooting her a look across the room.

She gripped the arm of the chair for a moment, wondering at his aim and coming up empty. “Yes,” she replied, when she could think of no reason not to, “always.”

“Are you-” he stopped again, and rose, shrugging off his coat, “do you like it here?” 

She swallowed, stiffening more and more with each of his odd actions. If he had meetings after the midday meal, they were typically conducted out on a ride or a hunt, the more relaxed settings more conducive to internal business, but requiring the heavy outerwear he was shedding. She could only begin to guess at his motivations, and fear was settling heavy in her stomach. 

“Nula?” 

She raised her eyes from the abandoned coat to his eyes. “I apologize, I was distracted. You asked me something?” 

 “Nevermind.” The pink blush was back and he shook his head, braid and earring swinging in response. 

“You have no meetings?”

“Not for now,” he smiled at her, “I thought we could spend the time together.”

“Oh?” She glanced at her letter, but it did nothing to dissipate the icy mass of dread in her stomach, and then gave her best impression of a sweet smile, “what did you have in mind?” 

“I have heard you have not been to the library?”

“Ah,” she shook her head, “I have meant to, however-”

He was smiling a little too knowingly, “You can’t find it?”

The look she returned was one of pure annoyance and she knew it. “It isn’t as though you provided a map.”

“The library contains some of our most valued historic artifacts, it is deliberately positioned to be concealed from intruders.”

She smiled in spite of herself, “I suppose a less proud woman would have asked by now?” 

“Perhaps.” He smiled at her and she shook her head.

It took her only a few moments to collect her shawl and her shoes, even so she was surprised to find him still smiling when she turned back. “What?”

“I have never seen a true smile from you before.”

“Oh, I-”

“I like it.” He held out a hand, “shall we?” 

The walk to the library passed in peacable silence, though she felt Buccaneer’s eyes on her more often than not. He opened a wooden door exactly like the many other wooden doors they had passed and gestured for her to go in first. She stepped in and was immediately bewildered. The walls were covered in tapestries and murals, but she could see no books, only low benches and tables. 

“This is the library?”

“Yes and no.” A door opened out of a mural and a man stepped through. As the door swung closed again the seams melted again into obscurity on the painted wall. “Ah, here is a scribe.”

“What brings you here, My Prince?” The scribe smiled, eyes twinkling in a wizened face, “I am not certain I have seen you in here since your lessons ended.”

Buccaneer looked guilty, but gestured to Olivier. “I’ve brought my wife.”

“Is she more scholarly than you, then?” The scribe turned to her, still smiling and reached for her hand, which he kissed when she extended it. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Princess.”

“And I yours, Scribe-?”

“Roane, Your Highness.” He straightened, “how may I be of assistance to you?”

“I am not certain,” she admitted, “I think, perhaps, what we mean by library and what you mean by it, are not the same.”

“Ah,” he smiled again, and she couldn’t help but return it, “you were expecting books? Our tradition is oral, you see, and only in the past few years have we begun to transcribe our histories; these murals help us in telling our stories. Shall I show you?” 

Buccaneer hung back as the scribe began showing Olivier the Mural of the Tribes and proceeding around the room. It felt entirely too much like history lessons to him and he settled himself at a low table, fiddling absently with a broken quill someone had left behind. He supposed he could return to their chambers, seeing as she was plenty occupied, but he couldn’t say with certainty that she knew her way back, and he would hate for her to either get lost, or worse, wind up in one of the rooms his mother had insisted she not visit. 

It seemed to him, the future queen ought to be informed on the goings-on, but that had been a point of disagreement among the two of them, and as usual he ceded to his mother’s point. She was far and away the wisest person he knew, and if she thought there was danger in something she was probably right. It would be better, she had explained to him, to wait until Olivier was with child, or even until the child had been born, because it was one thing to betray a husband, entirely another to betray one’s own child. She, of anyone, would know and he trusted her wisdom, however hard earned. 

He sighed and set aside the quill, looking to see Olivier and Roane’s progress. She seemed genuinely curious, asking questions and listening intently to the answers. He was developing increasing fondness for her, and was pleased to see her so relaxed, so openly curious. He suddenly wished he had stayed beside her, so he could slip an arm around her shoulders and pretend they were a normal husband and wife; that she didn’t flinch a little every time he moved toward her, that he didn’t wake nearly nightly to her quiet nightmares, tossing and turning and whispering so quickly in her native tongue that he could barely understand anything but her pleas to be left alone, or else finding the place beside him cold and empty, turning over to see her sitting beside the fire, the look on her face that of one condemned, waiting only for their executioner. 

A hand on his shoulder roused him from his thoughts and he startled, finding Olivier standing beside him. “It’s time to go and dress for supper.” 

“Oh, already?”

“We could stay a little longer, but you looked nearly asleep, and I would hate for your snores to disturb the other scribes.”

He snorted and rose, taking her arm and finding it felt somehow different than usual. It was only back in their rooms, preparing for supper, that he realized why: the wave of tension that passed through her every time they touched had made no appearance. 

“Buccaneer?” 

He wasn’t certain which surprised him more, her use of his name or her speaking unprompted at all. “Yes?” 

“I can’t do the laces on this dress myself, could you-?”

He turned to her, surprise growing, and found she was wearing a green and gold embroidered gown, which laced down the back, or would if she could manage the laces. He felt his face heat at the expanse of pale skin highlighted by the dark fabric. 

“Buccaneer?” She twisted to look over shoulder at him and his blush deepened.

“Of course, sorry.” He felt clumsy as he gathered the laces, his fingers brushing over soft skin, and sending goosebumps across it. He had capable hands, he knew. Sorcery had ensured his right arm was as good as the one he had been born with--or nearly. He could restring a bow, write a decree, feed himself, but the skin was inhumanly cold and everything he touched felt far away as though through a thick leather glove. 

“Is that as tight as you can go?” She was watching herself in the mirror, smoothing the front of the gown and frowning. 

“It’s tight enough.” He watched her twist and frown a little more. “It’s tighter than the other gowns you’ve been wearing. Why?”

She met his eyes in the mirror. “The entire nation is trying to decide if I’m worthy to be your wife. I need to keep the peace.”

“If I am pleased, why should anything else matter?” 

“They are waiting for your mother’s approval to decide how they view me,” she smoothed the silk again, “every detail is significant. An offhand comment on my bland wardrobe could be taken as a signal she does not approve. I cannot afford to keep wearing only the dresses I can manage on my own; they think I am already growing lazy about my figure.”

“It’s a very nice figure.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them and he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him. She hadn’t worn anything nearly as thin as the nightgown of the first night since, and his mind shamefully returned to it time and again.   

Her face went carefully blank and then she smiled again, sweet and fake. “I am pleased you think so.” Before he could formulate a response, she ducked away from the mirror--and his reach--and tied a headband of embroidered green silk around her hair, pulling it away from her face, something she rarely did. She turned back again, false smile firmly in place. “We can depart at your convenience.” 

He smiled back, doubting it was any more convincing and held out his hand. He was starting to believe she would never truly trust him, and he was unsure what the future would hold if he was right.  

\---

Suppers in the Great Hall, in spite of being insufferably boring, were an excellent time to gather information on the members of the court, especially the advisors to the would-be King. Briggs had once been a meeting place of multiple tribal leaders and a single monarchy had risen out of that, but the position had always been tenuous. Exactly what had happened to Buccaneer’s father no one had said, but his mother ruled while they worked to secure the throne for Buccaneer, a thing less certain than she had originally been informed, a council of tribes wanting to claim the throne for themselves. His successful negotiation of an alliance would almost certainly sway those uncertain to him, provided it all held together.

“So, Sister,” it took her a moment to realize that Vlad, Buccaneer’s brother, was speaking to her, as she was generally ignored for the entirety of the meal, “tell us, how do you like our humble palace?”

“I like it very well, thank you.” She smiled, though it was harder with so many eyes on her, her soft response very loud in the sudden hush.

“And my brother, the prince?” 

“Buccaneer is-”

“He is your better!” All eyes snapped to Clarese who was scowling down at her, “you will address him as such.”

“Now, now,  _ mother,  _ let my brother handle his wife himself.”

Buccaneer wasn’t looking at her, was instead studying his wine goblet, as though he’d never seen it before. He glanced at his mother, and then spoke, deep voice rumbling. “Her customs are different. She means no harm.”

There was a long pause and then, “well and so. No harm done, then, but you ought to control your wife better, my child.”

Olivier opened her mouth, whether to apologize or defend herself, she hadn’t decided but Buccaneer gripped her hand beneath the table and squeezed it. Not hard, but enough for her to understand the warning. She sat back and watched the others awkwardly return to their meals and conversations. The moment she was certain no eyes remained on them, she yanked her hand free. 

She could feel hot, angry, tears pricking her eyes, but she forced them back and sipped her wine. She was going to have to determine a way to win his mother over,  _ or _ \--she set her wine glass down and drew a breath--her charm routine was never going to work in the long run. Might as well stop worrying about it and start taking matters into her own hands. 

“I am going to retire now.” Buccaneer frowned at her and looked like he wanted to argue. She rose anyway, eyes back on her, and walked away. Chin up, back straight, murder in her eyes. She would take her lecture on manners when it came, and move on.

The way to her own chambers was familiar to her by now, but she turned deliberately toward the council chambers that she knew were empty. Unsurprisingly, the doors were locked. She hadn’t come prepared to pick them, but she took a few minutes to determine the type and what it would take to open them before moving on, not to her chambers, but to the library. 

No one was in it, the scribes off at their own evening meal, and she felt calmer than she had in weeks as she lit a lamp and settled herself at a table. Penning a reply to her family was a complicated endeavor, wanting to pass on what she had learned without alerting whoever was going to screen her letter, and at last she was satisfied, the ink dry, and the missive sealed. It was tempting to curl up on one of the benches and not return to her chambers, but she was certain that would not end well and made her way slowly back.

“Where have you been?” Buccaneer demanded, leaping to his feet the moment she opened the door to the receiving room. She ignored him, pushing on into their bedchamber, him on her heels. “My mother was furious!”

“I went to write a letter,” she glanced at him over her shoulder, “I did not realize that was so disagreeable to you.”

“You cannot leave during supper unless you are feeling ill, and certainly not alone!” 

“I see.” She reached behind herself to work on the laces and remembered that she could not undo them herself. “Can you-?”

He snorted, “are you really going to ignore me? We need to talk about this, sooner than later.”

“I understand,” she gave another futile tug on the laces, “I simply don’t see the point in ruining the gown.”

“I-” he stopped, “what?”

“I may not understand your customs, but I understand what ‘control your wife’ means.” He was frowning at her again, and she straightened, squaring her shoulders. “I won’t fight it. I suppose that’s how gowns get ruined most often, anyway.” His silence was starting to unnerve her and she pressed on, “well, what do you want me to do?”

“Do?” 

“Is this part of your strategy? Humiliate me by making me say it?” She wondered how much worse it would be if she struck his stupidly large head, and sighed. “Very well.” She closed her eyes for a brief moment, composing herself, and then met his stare dead on. “What position would you like me to take for my punishment?” 

His eyes went wide. “None! I’m not-” he shook his head, “I said I wouldn’t raise a hand to you and I meant it.”        

“And if your mother told you to?” 

“She-” he stopped himself and took a deep breath, “why don’t we sit?” She stood stock still as he crossed the room and sank into his chair by the fire, clasping his hands carefully in his lap. “I can see why you would think that was my intent, but I promise you it isn’t. Please, come sit and we can talk.”

She made her way to the chair slowly, and no longer hiding behind feigned shyness, she sat like a queen, regarding him coolly. “Why? It isn’t as though it goes against your laws.”

“It should.” Her brows went up that and he sighed, “look, I’ve never really talked about this with anyone before, but you’re my wife, so I’ll try.” He pulled absently on his braid, “my father used to beat my mother. I realize that’s hardly surprising, but you have to understand, she used to be,” he paused again, thinking, “softer than she is now. She’s done a lot of things that I know she never would have before. Hurting people like that, just makes them hurt others.”

“So, you’re a pragmatist.”

“I know you’re determined to see the worst in me, but I genuinely believe no one should live in that kind of fear.”

“You understand why it’s hard for me to believe that?”

He sighed quietly, “I truly wish there had been another way. I never wanted to take you away from your home.”

“I knew the risk I was taking.”

“Small comfort.”

She shrugged, “it has been better than I feared.” 

He couldn’t help but smile at that, “well,  _ nula, _ that’s a beginning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...at least it ended okay? :)
> 
> Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think!


	4. A Word of Advice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies, I bring you a mediocre chapter in which Buccaneer gets bad advice and there is a lot hand-holding.
> 
> Happy reading!

As was his practice, Buccaneer went to visit his mother at the end of the month, for tea and conversation. She smiled at him as he entered, and he kissed her cheeks before sitting down. She poured tea for him, and he drank gratefully.

“How have you been faring, my son?” She asked after a moment, setting her own tea down.

“I have been doing well,” he added more sugar to his tea, “it is an adjustment, of course, but for the better.”

“She is strong-willed,” Clarese was watching him closely as he stirred his tea in the delicate little cup, speaking as he lifted it to his lips, “does she satisfy you?”

Buccaneer choked, spitting tea indelicately. He cleared his throat and wiped his face, “I would expect such a question from Vlad, not you!”

“Don’t look so scandalized, I’m not asking out of some voyeuristic curiosity, it’s simply that you cannot afford to look elsewhere for pleasure. If something’s wrong, you need to manage it sooner than later.” 

“You needn’t worry, Mother, all is well.” 

“Is it?” She sipped her tea and sighed, “a mother notices things, my child, and the day after your wedding you had a bandage on your arm. I assumed it was from her objecting to your advances.”

“No, no, nothing of the sort. My hand slipped while I was sharpening a quill. As good as it is, my arm will never be as steady as the original was.”

“Ah. If you would like, I could ask Nannette to look at it again.”

“No need, Mother. We always knew sorcery wouldn’t make the arm as good as before.”

“Well and so.” She inclined her head, “if you’re certain you do not need my advice.” 

“I do have a question, Mother, if you don’t mind?”

“Anything, my child.” 

“A few nights ago, when Olivier addressed me by name at dinner you knew she meant no harm, so why did you berate her? I could have spoken to her quietly afterwards and the awkwardness could have been avoided.”

“I’d like to ask you a question, in turn. How did she behave when she you returned to your chambers?”

“She was expecting me to punish her.”

“And did you?”

“Of course not!” 

“You are not one to assert yourself with force, and I admire that, but perhaps it would have been wise to.”

“You’re not serious?”

“I know that it sounds unpleasant, but putting her in her place in these early stages will save you both grief down the line. Sometimes we must be cruel to be kind.”

“And what kindness is there in such violence?” 

“I am not saying that you need to be violent, my child. You must establish boundaries now and be clear about her place so that there will be no question of it later. A woman’s greatest weapon against her husband is her body and her ability to grant or deny his use of it. You needn’t take what you are owed by force, but you should be clear that you are able and willing. ”

“But I am not willing to.” He set his tea down, firmly. “She doesn’t deserve to suffer, and certainly not so that I can take my pleasure against her will.”

“So, she is fighting you.”

“I didn’t say that, Mother.”

“You didn’t need to, I can see it in how you conduct yourselves in public. You are cautious, afraid to touch her as though she were made of fragile glass, and no man assured of his rights and his wife’s responsibilities behaves in such a manner.”

“I’m not afraid to touch her, but every time I move too quickly or do anything unexpected she pulls back and protects herself.”

“It sounds as though you are afraid of her.” 

“I am not afraid  _ of  _ her, I am simply afraid of hurting her. She is terrified, and not only can I find no fault in that, I am not going to give her reason to be so.”

“If she’s as terrified as you say you may not need to,” Clarese sat back, “in fact, I am happy to speak with Nannette and see if she will prepare a tea to aid you.”

“A tea?”

“To calm her, make her more-” she tilted her head, “ _ pliant. _ ”

“I-” he drew a deep breath, “Mother, I appreciate your concern, and the offer, but please let me handle my marriage myself.”

“Of course. I worry only for you and your claim to the throne, but I trust you.” She smiled again, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand gently. “Even so, if you need anything, my son, I will always be here for you.”      

\---

The gardens were a welcome distraction from the stifling palace, and Olivier spent as much time as she could spare in them, or else in the library where she slowly and carefully began to piece together an image of the convoluted politics that ruled in Briggs. Apart from simply looking out over the mountain range, or down over the parapet to a certain and rocky grave, the gardens allowed her privacy amongst the trees--shrubby little things that they were--to keep up a training regimen, even without a sword. 

It turned out to not be private enough and she found herself trying to calm her breathing and suppress the flush on her cheeks when Buccaneer pushed his way through the leafy branches and into her little clearing. 

“Ah, here you are!” He beamed as though he’d been searching for some time. “I almost thought I wouldn’t find you.”

She snorted, shaking her head, “the trees are not nearly so thick as that.”

He nodded, looking around at the trees. “What draws you out here?”

“I like to be out in the wind and the sun.”

“And nothing else?”

“No, nothing else.” She was fairly certain he didn’t believe her even as he smiled at her. “What brought you out here?”

“I came to find you,” he replied easily, but there was something in his voice that gave her pause. Something she had noticed on more than one occasion.

“You do not trust me to be on my own?”

“I cannot help but fear what could happen to you on your own.”

“So, it is not me but your own people who you do not trust?”

“There were many people who would have prefered we allied with Drachma. I do not think any of them would harm you, but it is possible.”

“I am certain that I can handle any threats that may come my way.” 

Buccaneer smiled at her again, reaching over to pull a leaf from her hair, “you do seem capable,” he held the leaf between them a moment before letting it drop, watching it flutter to the ground before he smoothed an errant lock of hair, dropping his hand almost guilty, “even so, I would prefer to know where you are.” 

“I would prefer my privacy, and yet,” she shrugged, “here we are.”

He sighed, “shall  we return to our chambers and leave the topic here?”

She nodded, and slipped her arm through his, observing him carefully as they made their way slowly into the palace, up one set of stairs and down the hall to their chambers. He was tense and unsettled and though she no longer feared every turn in his mood, she was eager to resolve the issue.

“Why don’t you tell me what is troubling you?” Olivier sank into her chair by the embers of their fire, only just realizing how cold she had become sweating in the cold air of the garden, “talking about it may help.” 

Buccaneer added a few logs and prodded the embers back into flames, before crossing the room to his chest. “It’s nothing,  _ nula _ .”

“You believe me a fool?” 

He turned back to her, a fur blanket in his hands, and shook his head.”No, it’s simply nothing I can discuss with you.” He crossed the room again and draped the blanket over her.

She grabbed his hand as he moved to pull away, “you can’t discuss your troubles with you own wife?” He stopped, still leaning over her as she rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb, “your country is a strange place.”

He stayed frozen in place, watching her watching him. The touch was nice, however cold her fingers were, the softness of the gesture previously unknown. “Is there really nothing you can say to me?” Her blue eyes pierced him as she bit her full lower lip, waiting for his response almost nervously. 

He sighed and sank into his own chair, still holding her small hand in his, “I spoke with my mother today, and I didn’t appreciate her advice.”

“Oh?”

“We disagree on increasingly more things every day. I have to choose between my own instincts and her wisdom.”

“Ah. The eternal struggle.” She cleared her throat, “what did you disagree about?”

He hesitated, squeezing her hand while he thought and then nodded resolutely, “you.”

“Me?” He nodded again and she smiled, “she doesn’t approve of your gentle strategy and is not convinced I am performing my wifely duties?”

He chuckled dryly, “you are a perceptive one.”

“You flatter me, but alas for all that you claim I perceive, you are a mystery to me.”

“You’re thinking too intensely; I am simple man.” 

“A simple man would have taken his pleasure that first night, and any time the urge struck since, so why haven’t you?”

“I was under the impression you were profoundly uninterested.” 

“A simple man would neither notice nor care.”

“You mistake simplicity and cruelty.”

She smiled, a clever smile that made his stomach turn not unpleasantly, “perhaps.” She looked at their hands, still entwined, and then said “I had begun to think you were not interested, that standards here were maybe so different that you thought me ugly.”  
“No, not at all!” 

She laughed a little, humorlessly. “I am not certain I would have been upset by it. This life is not-” she shook her head, “I do not mean offense. I only mean,” she paused again, fixing him in her gaze and drawing a slight blush to his cheeks, “before King Bradley asked my father to betrothe me to you it was broadly assumed I would marry Lord Raven. His family has not as long been in the Courts of Amestris, even so he is wealthy and well-connected, a suitable match. However, he was never subtle in his desires and I knew if I were to marry him I would forever be an object of lust and little else. So long I spent preparing myself that I did not know whether to be relieved or terrified. I traded the ill that I knew for one entirely unknown.”

“I-”

“I am grateful to you.”

“For what?”

“For noticing and honoring my lack of desire to consummate our marriage. I would have let you, on our wedding night, without any fight or complaint, and you still chose not to. A lesser man would not be so patient.”

“Is there hope, then?” He flushed brightly as soon as the words left his mouth. “I-”

Her hand slipped from his, “you are always free to take your pleasure. Perhaps, in time, I will even welcome it.” She glanced toward the high, narrow, window and rose “speaking of time, we should dress for supper if we do not wish to be late.”

\---

Vlad was rambling again, but Buccaneer paid him no mind, his thoughts anywhere but at the banquet table. He had never been one to deviate from the path set before him, but he was in over his head by amounts he had never dreamed possible. To begin with, he didn’t like to disagree with his mother, who had learned wisdom through hardship, but he could not help but feel she was becoming the exact sort of person she had always warned him not to be. He remembered how sweet she had once been, warm and affectionate, but he also remembered her purpled with bruises, coughing up blood, and falling to the floor under the weight of injuries he could only imagine. The pain, the fear, the anger, were all things he could not bear to see another person suffer, let alone at his hand. 

His mind wandered, in turn, to the one who had caused such suffering. He knew already what his father would have to say about his predicament. He would explain, in vivid detail, exactly what  _ he  _ would do to Olivier, and then mock Buccaneer’s softness. A man who cannot even bed his own wife is no man at all, he’d say, followed by an offer to do it for him. He supposed the older man would prod at his reluctance and accuse him of being not a man at all, too weak and effeminate to know the beauty of a woman when it was right in front of him.

That was the opposite of true, and the cause of more distress on his part. He did see her beauty entirely too clearly. He stole a glance at her beside him, golden hair gleaming and setting her apart, hair he longed to bury his hands in as he tasted the sweetness of her lips. She was eating slowly, but he could see the strength in her arms even through her sleeves as she cut her food, small steady fingers gripping her knife with ease. Fingers he could easily imagine wrapping around his--he forced his eyes away from her to stare fixedly at the crest above the mantel.

He was growing very familiar with the crest, an innocuous and distracting sight that cooled the fire in his cheeks as well as much lower down. He let a slight sigh escape him, knowing full well the night would another somewhat guilt-inducing trip to the baths so as to avoid alarming her by coming to bed with his desire so obvious. 

At his sigh she looked up at him, her gaze inquiring and he smiled apologetically, keeping his eyes firmly on her face. The gown he’d helped her into was cut a little lower than some of her others and he was far from the only one who noticed the way the scarlet fabric presented an alluring hint of cleavage, further accented by the simple gold necklace whose pendant rested neatly on her breastbone. Yes, he was definitely going to need that trip to the baths.

“And what do you think, Brother?”

He froze, having long since tuned out his brother. He had no idea what he was being asked, let alone how he should respond.

“Forgive my intrusion, I think I am having difficulty with your language. You are saying Drachma is imposing too high of trade tariffs on  _ trees _ ?”

Buccaneer felt a wave of gratitude at Olivier’s question as a titter of laughter traveled around the table. “No,  _ nula,  _ not on trees, on the maple sap products. We don’t have nearly as efficient a system for harvesting the sap, so we rely on Drachma to do it for us and trade them supplies from the lowlands.”       

“Oh, I see.” She nodded thoughtfully, “so this tariff you must pay is too much, and you are thinking of refusing to pay it any longer?”

He knew from the patronising looks being sent her way that he was the only one who realized how cleverly she was rescuing him from his predicament. “That is the idea we are currently considering, yes, but I do not want to risk war.”

“Is there anything they need from the lowland as much as you need this,” she seemed to flounder for a moment, “tree sap, was it? Perhaps you can make them pay just as much for it?”

He smiled as a murmur went through the room. “Perhaps.” When the focus was away from the once more, he caught her hand gently and brought it to his lips, kissing it before whispering a quiet thanks. 

She raised her brows at him, but kept her hand in his as the evening progressed, the ghost of a smile playing about her lips. 

He couldn’t help but smile himself. His mother might disapprove and his father likely turned in his grave, but Olivier was content. For now, he could be, too.  __

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> As always, I cherish your thoughts and opinions. :)


	5. Two Steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Please enjoy this chapter.

She awoke shivering. She had been warned of the bitter cold, but had not truly believed it could grow so cold until summer had begun to fade into fall, which came early and cold. She groped blindly for the covers fearing she had kicked them off in the night--being a restless sleeper had its hazards, to which Buccaneer’s bruised shins could attest--but found only her sleeping husband. He grunted in his sleep and rolled over, throwing his arm over her in the process. She froze, uncertain, and then pressed gently into his warmth. He grunted again, softer this time, pulled her against himself, and sighed contentedly. She closed her eyes and let herself drift into a cozy sleep. 

 When morning light roused her, Buccaneer’s arm was still around her, but she could feel it was carefully held, as though trying his best not to put any weight on her. She shifted and heard his breath catch. Smiling, she rolled over. 

“Good morning, Buccaneer.” 

His eyes were amusingly wide, “good morning,  _ nula. _ ”

“Did you sleep well?” He nodded wordlessly, and Olivier chuckled as she sat up. The cold air hit her all at once and she let out a startled yelp, burrowing under the covers immediately. 

It was Buccaneer’s turn to chuckle, “you’re not yet accustomed to the cold?” 

“I will never grow accustomed to the cold!” She complained, head buried under the blanket. 

Buccaneer pulled the blanket away from her face against her protests, “come on, you have to get up and eat.” She glared fiercely up at him and he smiled, “I’ll go stoke the fire, and you can bring a blanket, but you have to eat so we can dress.”

Olivier padded across the floor, blanket draped over her shoulders, and settled into her chair while Buccaneer followed through on his promise to stoke the fire before retrieving the breakfast trays from the receiving room. She didn’t know if it was common for breakfast to be left in this manner, or if it was a preference of Buccaneer’s, but she did enjoy not being served and fussed over first thing in the morning as she was at home. At home. She gritted her teeth at the realization that she needed to stop thinking of her parents’ copious estate as ‘home’.

“Is all well?” 

She pushed down the swelling feeling of homesickness and smiled up at her husband as he pushed a tray across the little table to her. “All is well, I am simply waking slowly.” He gave her a look as though he did not believe her but smiled regardless and began eating. “Is there anything planned for today?”

He shook his head, chewing and swallowing before answering, “I have meetings with the council all day, but you can do whatever you’d like.” 

“I could come with you,” she offered, feigning a casual air, “keep you company while you’re being bored out of your mind by those long-winded councilors.” 

“As tempting as that may be, I already have my mother kicking me under the table every few minutes to make sure I’m paying attention. I doubt she would approve of me bringing a distraction.”

She stiffened, “ah well, I wouldn’t want to distract you from such important business.” She rose, making her way to the wardrobe angrily. A snicker made her spin around, ready to snap.

“I’m sorry,” Buccaneer covered his mouth with one fist and tried to look serious, “I know 

I shouldn’t laugh, but the feather down makes it difficult to take you seriously.” 

She glanced down at the blanket still wrapped around herself and had to concede that she looked ridiculous. Turning back to the wardrobe she selected a fur-trimmed gown in purple, “my parents gifted me gowns like this one for the winter, but I fear I’ll need to keep the feather down if it continues to grow colder.”

“Ah, that’s what you can do today!” Buccaneer positively beamed, “you should go see the head seamstress and get a start on a proper winter wardrobe. She can do a basic fitting and you can look at sketches, pick fabrics, that sort of thing.” 

“That sounds-” she drew a breath to try and keep the sarcasm out of her voice, “wonderful.”

“Excellent! I’ll walk you down to the weaving rooms before I make my way to the council chambers.” 

\---

The midday meal was served in the council chambers, but Buccaneer took the opportunity the respite provided to make his way back down to the weaving rooms and see how Olivier was faring. He found her standing on a stool in her underthings while a group of seamstress’s assistants took her measurements.

“Oi! No men in-oh, My Prince!” The seamstress curtsied as soon as she noticed her mistake, “I do apologize!”

“No need, my good lady, I simply came to see how things were progressing.” 

“Of course, I’ll give you a moment.” She ushered her assistants out, leaving Buccaneer and Olivier alone. 

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he was blushing and he knew it, “I didn’t realize you would be so-”

“Underdressed?” Olivier supplied, stepping off the stool carefully to avoid slipping in her stockings. “It took us quite some time to agree on styles and fabrics.” 

“Oh?” He was looking with apparent fascination at the sketches of gowns the seamstress had made. Her chemise was thin and cut low and beneath it he could see the bindings that supported her ample chest, her cleavage on full display. 

“We found that we had different priorities in a gown,” she came to stand beside him, looking at the drawings as well, “as chief seamstress to the queen and her court, her emphasis is on the latest fashions, on pomp and circumstance. I have more practical concerns.” 

“I see,” he cleared his throat and pointed at a sketch, “I like this one.” 

“Oh?” She leaned in and he dared to glance down at her, and the back of her chemise, only loosely tied, gaped open, “I wasn’t partial to it, but I’d be happy to ask Matilda to make one up for me.”

“You needn’t on my account, if you don’t like it.”

“Why do you like it? Perhaps she could add your favorite features to one of the gowns we already agreed on.” 

“Oh, I-” he flushed and tugged on his braid, “I have no idea, they all look the same to me.” She stilled for a moment, still leaning over the sketches and then her shoulders began to shake. He touched her shoulder gently, “is everything-?” Her peal of laughter caught him completely off guard. “Why are you laughing?” 

“I am s-sorry,” she was giggling even as she covered her mouth and tried to contain it, “what are we doing?”

“What do you mean?” He was beaming as he watched her laugh, a sight far more beautiful than anything he had ever seen. 

“We’re standing here looking at gowns when upstairs there is a meeting that truly will determine the value of our marriage treaty,” her laughter was diminishing, fading away before his eyes, “and we cannot even be honest with one another.”

“It isn’t that we cannot be honest-”

“Then let me come to the council chambers with you!” 

“You are not dressed for-”

“You know how swiftly I can dress, that is no problem. Why are you really barring me entrance?” 

“It is complicated; my people and yours are still learning how we can help one another.”  

“I can help!” She grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at her, “they are  _ my _ people! I know what they need and what they cannot afford.”

“Which is what makes it complicated.  _ Nula, _ you must be one of us now. Your allegiance must be with us.” 

Something shifted in her face; pain, perhaps, or anger. “Is that why my letters are being intercepted?”

He frowned, “your letters are not being intercepted. At least, I am not having them intercepted and no one else has the authority to-” he trailed off as realization struck him. “I will ask my mother about the matter.”

“Tch!” She stepped back, face growing cold. “She will tell you what to think and you will agree and that will be the end of it.” She turned away entirely, calling into the other room, “Matilda, I am ready to recommence.”   

Buccaneer returned to the council chambers with a heavy heart. It seemed to him that every step forward that they took in their relationship resulted in two steps backward. He had had no idea what to expect leading up to their wedding and had found Olivier to be a delightful mystery. She was beautiful, intelligent, strong and, though his mother despised it, willful. 

Simultaneously, she reminded him of a cat he’d had as a child. Once kicked by Vlad, it had been frightened and spiteful, hissing and biting at anyone who got too close. He had had to coax it back into trusting him, taking extreme care and being as gentle as he knew how. Even when he had regained its trust, the little creature had been forever skittish and easily alarmed. He supposed he would simply have to work even harder to bring Olivier around.

\---

When at last she was finished with Matilda, Olivier began to make her way back up to her chambers, frustrated anger making it difficult to think. She found Buccaneer’s company to be agreeable enough, but he absorbed and repeated his mother’s opinions entirely too easily. The fact that he had never even considered there might be interference with her letters--or claimed not to have--was all the more frustrating. Paired with the stubborn insistence at keeping her out of all political affairs, she suspected there was some nefarious plot they wanted her to remain unaware of.

She knew that Briggs sought supplies and hired men to reinforce their forts and holdings along the border of Drachma and Amestris sought furs, maple products, and other expensive imports. She was glad to see her nation involved in greater exports rather than war-mongering, but feared they would leave themselves vulnerable to attack from their more hostile neighbors if Briggs grew greedy. 

Her feet stopped, seemingly of their own accord on the spiral stairs that would take her to her chambers. What would she do in her chambers once she arrived? Buccaneer, in his attempts to be a proper husband, had supplied her with paints and embroidery supplies and even offered to procure a cat or little dog for her amusement, but she found little interest in any of the usual diversions, her mind too easily straying to worries. 

She listened for a moment and found the halls quiet, anyone of any importance in the council chambers and the servants enjoying a respite. She drew a steadying breath and changed her course. It would be simple enough to slip into the Queen’s chambers and see if she could find any missing sections of her letters, a diary, or a ledger, and then slip out again before the meeting adjourned. 

Queen Clarese’s chambers were more extravagant than her own, but she was ignoring the details in favor of searching for anything that could help her. A writing table in the corner seemed a worthwhile place to start and she rifled through the papers quickly, one eye on the door. A still-sealed missive from home was all she dared claim, tucking it into her bodice before she slipped away again making her way back to her own chambers swiftly. 

Her fingers shook slightly as she broke her mother’s seal and unfolded the letter. A pressed flower slipped out, a gift from Amue, if she had to guess. She wrapped it carefully in a handkerchief and set it on the little table beside her bed, before turning back to the letter.  

_ “My dearest daughter, _

_ “I am grateful for your latest letter. We all enjoyed your descriptions of your new family’s strange customs. Your sketches particularly delighted little Catherine, who is progressing beautifully in her primer and even tried her hand at reading your letter aloud. I do not think we will soon forget her amusing and dear pronunciation of “forthwith” which she spoke as “fow-t-hith” and-” _

A sudden noise outside her door alarmed Olivier and she leapt to her feet, tucking the letter back into her bodice. A cold chill ran down her spine as she heard the door to the receiving chamber opening and the distinctive heavy footsteps of the palace guards moving through it. 

“Who dares intrude?” 

In lieu of response to her question, the door to the bedchamber was thrown open and the Queen’s personal guard stepped through, the queen herself behind him, and several more guards behind her. A sword tip was rested against her throat and she forced her breathing to remain level as she made eye contact with Clarese.

“What is the meaning of this?” 

“Did you really think you could spy on my own chambers undetected?” 

“I do not know what you mean.”   __

“Do not lie to me, child. You were seen.” Clarese glanced over her shoulder at the guards, “search the room, see what she has stolen.”

“I am no thief!” Her protest made no difference as the guards began tearing apart the room, her gowns tossed on the floor, blankets stripped off the bed, and her chests rifled through. “You will find nothing.” 

“Perhaps,” Clarese eyed her thoughtfully, “remove your gown.” 

She flushed at the mere thought, surrounded as they were by male guards. “I will not!”

“Remove your gown or I will have it removed for you.” 

“You have no right-”

The queen’s signet ring caught her across the face as the older woman backhanded her. “I have every right, you insolent child! You are the outsider here.” 

It was true. She was alone in a foreign palace, her only potential ally caught under his mother’s thumb.  _ Show no fear. _ She forced herself to hold her chin up, fixing her mother-in-law with a glare full of hatred, as she slowly undid the laces and let her gown fall to the ground around her feet. 

“Are you satisfied, my Queen?” Venom dripped from every syllable, her face still stinging. 

“Quite.” Clarese stooped to retrieve the letter which had fallen with the gown. “Your lies, like your theft, are exposed.” 

“How can I be a thief when it is my own letter?” 

“You have a lot still to learn.” Shaking her head, Clarese gestured to her personal guard who lowered his sword and ushered the rest of his men out. Olivier maintained her deadlock stare with the queen, refusing to look and see who might be looking back at her. “You see, child, in these early stages we must be clear with your people what we will and will not tolerate. Your little act of espionage cannot be tolerated. So, we will have to take away something from our dealings.”

“It is not their fault! I acted on my own, my Queen, please punish me if you must, but do not make my people suffer on my behalf.” She was a proud woman, but she could beg if it came to it. 

“My Queen,” the personal guard had returned to the doorway, something long and thin in his hands. 

“Thank you,” she took the object, and held it out in front of her. “Do you know what this is, child?” 

Olivier said nothing, her stomach tightening painfully. She was no fool and though the exact name in her husband’s language was unknown to her, she could plainly see the braided leather and birch handle was some form of whip or crop. 

“It’s a hog whip, one of many set aside to drive herds of our best hogs down the mountain to deliver in exchange for a shipment of metal from your king. It is shorter than most whips, as you can see, and stouter. It delivers a sharp enough blow to bring an immediate effect, but with weight enough even a very stupid animal will remember the lesson for some time. However,” Clarese turned the whip thoughtfully, “I suppose it will not be needed. The hogs will be withheld to insure King Bradley understands how seriously we take this intrusion.”

“He had no knowledge, my Queen!” The herds were much needed in the lowland to provide food and tallow for lamps, the hides turned to leather, every part used for a nation almost too large for its own resources. “Please, I acted alone. I only wanted my mother’s letter. There must be another way.”

“If you truly acted alone, then perhaps we can resolve this alone.” Clarese turned to her guard again, and made another gesture that he caused him to nod and step away again. “If I agree to hold my deal as it was before your insubordination was discovered, then you must agree to accept your punishment. Will you?”

“Yes, My Queen.” The words felt bitter as wormwood on her lips.

“Very well.” She turned again to the doorway, her timing impeccable as her personal guard returned, two others with him. She handed the whip to her guard as the other two stepped forward and grabbed Olivier’s arms, steering her to the ground. She went without complaint, as they held her down, unknown hands opening her chemise and baring her back. The queen’s voice was without mercy as she spoke next. “Shall we begin?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I am so sorry. The next chapter will be better, I promise.


	6. Tremble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! This chapter is a little shorter, but I hope you all enjoy it anyway!

It was not unheard of for messengers to slip into meetings and deliver missives, their recipients either sending return messages or recusing themselves to deal with whatever issue had arisen. Regardless, Buccaneer had never seen his own mother leave a meeting. She had returned only in time to dismiss the councilors, and said nothing when he shot her a questioning look. 

A group of servants scurried past him, heads bowed, as he approached his chambers. He frowned after them, bemused. Olivier rarely liked to have others in their chambers, but even if they had intruded unexpectedly, he doubted she would have yelled or behaved in a way that would explain their timid movements. He made his way into their chambers curiously. To his surprise, Olivier was lying face-down on their bed.  

“Please, just go.” Her voice sounded hoarse and, perhaps it was just that it was muffled by the pillow,  _ weak _ . 

“ _ Nula _ ? Are you unwell?” She didn’t answer him and he sat down on the bed beside her, “should I ask Nannette to come?” He put a hand on her back, and she made a strangled noise of such pain and anguish that he yanked it away immediately. “What-” he undid the ties of her chemise and pulled it open, bewildered. His heart dropped into his stomach at the sight that met him. Angry red welts criss-crossed across skin that was both raw and purpling with what would be deep bruises. For a moment, he simply couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. “Who-” he stopped, realizing he knew the answer,  _ “why?”  _

“Just go,” she choked out, a sob following. 

He slipped his hand under her mass of tangled hair and pressed it against her neck which was hot and damp with sweat. He could feel her pulse fluttering, her body struggling under the weight of her mistreatment. 

“I cannot leave you alone, you need care.” She made a noise but he shushed her, “don’t try to protest. Save your strength.” He rose, trying to think. He was forcing himself to suppress his anger at his mother, needing to focus all his energy on Olivier. At once, his answer came to him and he very carefully slid his arms under her, positioning her arms around his neck and lifting her gently.

“Wha-?”

“Sshh,” he silenced her, focusing on carrying her without jostling her or putting weight on her damaged back. There was only one place he could think of to take her, a place he had gone time and again when he had lost his arm. He made his way down back halls and secret staircases, deeper and deeper under the palace. He ran into very people on his way and a dark look from him was all it took to send them scurrying away. 

At last he pushed open the last door and lowered her gently onto a bench, holding her upright carefully. She peered around in confusion, taking in the room hewn out of stone more than built, wooden benches circling a bath set deep into the floor and filled with bubbling water. 

“Where-?” 

He barely glanced around the room, his stomach clenching as he saw her face for the first time, it was red and swollen, her many tears leaving salty residue crusted in tear tracks, her lips bitten to the point of bleeding and then some, presumably from trying to contain her screams. 

“Most of the water in the palace comes from this underground spring, which bubbles up in several places. This bath is reserved for the royal family and is one of a few that is said to have healing properties.” 

He took his hands off her shoulders, and she wobbled, nearly pitching off the bench. He caught her swiftly, and her head fell against his shoulder, tears falling anew. He’d planned to ask her if she could stand, but that seemed to be a pointless question. As carefully as he knew how he began inching the chemise down her her arms, trying his best not to scrape the fabric across her back.  

“Please,” her voice had grown weaker, more confused, “don’t.” 

His heart, which was already hurting more than he could comprehend, broke again at the realization she was expecting more suffering, for him to hurt in a way too despicable to even consider; that she was in so much pain that she either forgot he had promised not to harm her, or she never believed him and couldn’t keep up her facade. He had to force himself to keep going, making quiet soothing sounds as she wept, undressing her carefully and carrying her to the bath. Under any other circumstances he’d be flushed, hard with desire, but he couldn’t even consider anything of the sort in the moment.

“This will sting at first,” he warned as he began to lower her into the water, “but then you’ll start to feel better, you’ll see.” 

Her scream of pain as her back touched the water made tears well up in his eyes, but he forced them down as he lowered himself to lie on the ground, holding her head above the water as she thrashed. After a moment, she began to calm, the water’s effect taking hold. She gripped his arms tightly and huddled against the edge of the tub. 

“Is it helping?”

She nodded, closed her eyes, and rested her head on his arms. He stroked her cheek with one thumb, then slid his hand down to feel her pulse in her neck again. It was calming and he felt his first bit of relief since he’d seen her back. 

“I’m so sorry,  _ nula. _ I didn’t know what she was doing, or I would have come and rescued you.”

“I didn’t need to be rescued.” Her voice was still hoarse, but she sounded a bit stronger.

“The state of your back would indicate otherwise.”

“If you had stopped her, she would have punished my people.” 

“She was upset, I’m sure, whatever happened, but she is not unreasonable. I could have made her see reason.”

“As you said, the state of my back indicates otherwise.” 

“I-” he stopped, unable to form a counter-argument, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I am sorry, I can say nothing else.” 

\---

When he had taken Oliver back up to their bedchambers, spread a thick balm on her back and given her a tea that would sooth the pain and let her sleep easily, Buccaneer pressed one more kiss to the top of her head and made his way from their chambers to his mother’s. With every step he felt his anger swell. No longer suppressing it to avoid alarming Olivier, he was practically trembling with rage as he knocked on the door to her receiving chambers.

Clarese was sitting on her settee, looking as though she had been expecting him. “You look troubled, my son.”

He snorted angrily, “do I?” He ignored her outstretched hand and silent invitation to sit.    
“I look and feel far less troubled than Olivier.”

“Oh?”

“Do not play innocent with me, Mother! How could you?!”

“She needed to be disciplined. A lesson cannot be taught painlessly, and I dare say she will remember this one.” 

“A lesson?!” His hands balled into fists at his sides. “You cannot teach with a  _ hog whip _ , Mother! Surely she could have done nothing to warrant such treatment.”

“She broke into my personal chambers and stole from me.”

Buccaneer’s surprise was quickly overtaken by anger again. “Such a matter ought to be settled in the courts, and an appropriate punishment met out then! What did she take then that could have warranted such outrage as to cause you to forget our ways?”

Clarese’s lips thinned in distaste, her nostrils flaring. “Does it truly matter? You let her run wild, her insolence alone sign enough you cannot control her!”

“I have told you I am not willing to resort to violence!” He was shaking, anger and pain running together. “What would you have me do?” 

“You speak as though I have not been clear; I have told you and I have told you a woman will do anything for her child!”

“Like you have done?!” he snarled, “your advice would be a lot more comforting coming from a woman who hadn’t unmanned her own husband!”

Clarese got to her feet, her own temper flaring. “I did what I had to. Don’t forget I’m the one who made you heir instead of that son of a whore!”

It wasn’t any sort of secret, the truth of Vlad’s heritage, but it was rarely spoken aloud and Buccaneer felt a swell of anger building in him that he could not contain. “A decision it seems you regret! I cannot and will not be the kind of man he is; the kind of man my father was!” He stepped toward her, “I am through with-” he broke off as Clarese visibly recoiled. He looked like his father, he knew, but that had been the extent of their similarities, at least he had always believed so. Watching his own mother flinch away from him in fright felt like a knife through his heart. He staggered backwards falling into an armchair and burying his face in his hands.

“My son?” He felt his mother’s hand, small and suddenly seeming very fragile, descend on his shoulder. He grabbed it with his remade hand and wept.   

“How could you do this? Who are you?” 

“What do you mean? I am your mother, I have always been.”

“No,” he choked out, and she gripped his shoulder more tightly.

“No?”  

“My mother was a kind woman. She taught me to be kind and compassionate, she taught me it didn’t matter a person’s station in life, or if they were a person at all! She taught me to be gentle with all people and animals, to never let myself think I was superior. She taught me the ways of her people, to thank the animals I take in a hunt, to always be humble. But you?” He raised his head, not caring if she saw his tears. “I don’t know you at all.”

She stared at him, silent and shaking with emotion too powerful to express. He rose, shaking his head. She let him go, unprotesting and he refused to look back. He didn’t return immediately to his own chambers, instead veering down another passageway to the guard’s barracks.

He shoved the door open without warning and off-duty guards scrambled to their feet, bowing and trying to seem somewhat presentable. He ignored them all, looking for one specific guard and caring not about the others.

“Archer!” His bellow sent men scrambling and the Queen’s Personal Guard appeared before him, bowing.

“My Prince, to what do I owe this honor?”

“You know,” Buccaneer growled, “gather the men that were with you.” As Archer obeyed, Buccaneer turned on the curious guards watching him, “the rest of you:  _ get out! _ ” They obeyed quickly and quietly, none daring to question their prince, not when he was radiating an aura of such rage. 

“You know what you have done and what you have seen.” He glared at the men assembled before him, some eyeing him doubtfully, others seeming more wary. “You will not speak of this to anyone, and you certainly will never raise your hands to her again, if you want to have hands at all.”

“The Queen-” Archer began smoothly, but Buccaneer did not allow him to finish, grabbing the smaller man’s neck and squeezing ever so slightly.

“The Queen is not here to protect you, now is she?” Later, when he was calmer, he would regret his action, regret the way he resembled his father in far more than just looks in that moment. But, in that moment, he was gratified by the fear and awe that met his actions. “Do not,” he hissed, “for even one moment underestimate me. You think the Queen is without mercy? I can be a thousand times more ruthless. If I hear even a whisper of a rumor about the palace, I will not waste time seeking the source of it; I will cut out each and every one of your tongues. If I see even one of you looking at  _ her, _ I will have all your eyes gouged out and fed to the vultures. If even one of you dares raise a hand to her, I will break every bone in every one of your hands.” 

  Later, he would know that he would never be able to follow through with those threats, but in that moment he believed his own rage, and so did the guards. The fear on their faces would haunt him for months to come, but he was angry enough to no longer worry. 

“Am I clear?” Silence met his query and he shook Archer slightly. “I said, am I clear?!”

“Y-yes, My Prince!” 

Glaring, he set the man down, hard enough to knock him onto his back. He stared down at the fallen man for a long moment, but found no words left. With a snort, he turned away, letting the barrack door slam behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think.
> 
> Also, I've been thinking of making a NSFW tumblr to go with this account. I'd post fic updates and open up requests or something, I think. Let me know if that's something that would interest you all!


	7. One Step

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies, I have a new chapter for you!
> 
> Happy reading!

Olivier woke slowly, her body aching in ways her tired brain needed time to comprehend, and she forced her eyes open, trying to push herself up on her arms and make sense of the haze of pain. She fell back onto her stomach and groaned quietly, her arms unwilling to support her.

“You’re awake! How are you feeling, my love?” 

She turned her head to see Buccaneer sitting beside her, looking as thought he’d been there all night without sleeping. He sounded different somehow, and in her muddled state it took her a moment to realize why. “I’ve never heard you speak my language before.”

He gave her a sheepish half-smile. “I do not speak it well.” She had no response for that and he reached over to cautiously brush her hair off her face. “Are you feeling better?” 

“I am in a little less pain,” she replied carefully, trying to keep from hissing in pain, “but if you are agreeable, I think I will not rise for breakfast.” 

“I would not ask you to,” he assured her, “when breakfast gets here I’ll help you.” She nodded, trying once again to push herself up. “ _Nula,_ woah, don’t try to get up.”

“I-”

“Shh, I know you think you need to, but I promise you, all you need to do right now is rest. I will take care of everything.” He brushed a hand over her face gently. “I think I hear the servants with the breakfast now. If I go to get it, will you promise to stay right here and not try to get up?” He smiled when she nodded. “Good, I’ll be right back.”

“I do not think I can eat after all,” she told him when he set the laden trays on the bedside table, “my stomach is uneasy.”

He pressed a hand to her forehead and found it warm, with what he suspected was the edge of a fever, “I understand, but perhaps a little bread? At least some tea.”

She raised her head a little, “what’s in the tea?” 

“Mint, lavender, chamomile, a little willow bark, and turmeric.”

“And nothing else? It made me feel-” she hesitated, biting her lip and the wincing when the thin skin ruptured again, “-odd.”

Buccaneer dabbed at the blood on her lips and gently swabbed more of the balm from the clay jar on the bedside table onto them. “There was a small amount of a strong alcohol that I mixed in myself to help you sleep.” He smiled apologetically at the look she shot him. “I’m sorry, I only thought it would help.”

“And, in all this, it never occured to you I might not want to sleep?”

He glanced at her in surprise, “you need to sleep so that you can heal.”

“Tch!” She lowered her head again, glaring at him, but saying nothing else. 

For a moment, he could only stir the tea--without alcohol this time--and ponder her anger. After a moment he set the tea down and asked her hesitantly, “do you fear what I might do to you, if you are, um, incapacitated?” 

“Not-” she paused a moment, seeming to begin fading away again, “-what you might do, no.” 

“What my mother might do, then?” He smiled sadly when she nodded, eyes fluttering shut. “I promise you, she will not harm you. I will stay right here and make sure of it.” 

Olivier said nothing, already slipping into a troubled sleep. Buccaneer watched her sleep, hoping the rest would do her good. When a servant knocked on the door to collect the trays he held back the tea and bread, determined to give it to her later.

The next few days were a blur. Olivier slept more often than not, and Buccaneer stayed by her side as he promised, having food and news of the daily happenings delivered to the doorway, letting no one, not even the maids who usually cleaned their chambers, enter. When he was sure there would be no one to see them, he helped Olivier down to the springs, at first carrying her and then, as her strength returned, helping her walk herself. 

When she was well enough to sit up, Olivier composed a letter to her family. It was slow-going, fatigue making it hard for her to focus, her hand shaking a little, ink dripping across the page in a sloppy fashion she would normally never tolerate. She was determined to finish, regardless, penning a falsely cheerful narrative that she hoped would allay their worries. She knew she was slower to respond than she liked and they would soon grow to worry. Buccaneer took the sealed letter and promised to take it directly to the courier, not allowing time for his mother to take and read it. She didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but she had no choice but to entrust the letter to his care, and return to sleep, energy spent. 

\---

It had been nearly a week since Olivier’s flogging and Buccaneer was growing concerned. She was healing physically, getting up and dressing herself, albeit slowly, allowing him to return to his daily life, but she had shown little interest in her usual activities and refused not only to take the midday meal with his family, but also to come out for supper. Her spirit wasn’t quite broken, he didn’t think, but fragile; like an ember smoldering on the edge of extinction or a branch bent nearly to breaking. 

His concern only grew when he found her sitting beside the fire, listlessly stitching at the previously untouched embroidery supplies he’d given her. He could see the design she’d selected set out before her, but her recreation looked more like a tangle of knotted thread than a lion rampant. 

“ _ Nula, _ wouldn’t you like to go the library today? Scribe Roane told me he is eager to tell you about the Battle of Mount Briggs.” 

“Another day, perhaps.” She tugged futilely on a thread, snapping it and sighing. “I want to finish this first.”

He glanced at the mess in her hands and nodded. “Do you, er, embroider often?”

She didn’t look up. “It occurred to me, I hadn’t embroidered a single thing for you since our wedding. Not very traditional of me.”

“Oh? That’s for me?” 

“If I can finish it.”

“It’s very nice. I can always use a new-” he peered closer and bit his lip, “-cloth.”

She stabbed the fabric with unnecessary force, ripping it a little. “It’s a handkerchief, you ass.” She froze, “I didn’t mean-”

He burst out laughing. “It’s a very nice handkerchief,  _ nula. _ I will treasure it always.” 

Without looking at him she threw the whole bundle into the fire. “There, treasure  _ that. _ ” 

“I should not have laughed, I am sorry. It was very nice.”

She brushed her skirt off and rose. “It was terrible, but it is just as well. I did not feel like finishing it, anyway.”

“What do you feel like, then?” 

She shrugged. “It does not matter.” 

“What? Tell me and perhaps I can arrange it for you.” 

The fierceness of her gaze took him aback, her bright blue eyes had dulled over the past few days and now shone. “I want to go home. Tell me, oh my prince, can you arrange that for me?” She snorted at his crestfallen expression. “I thought so.”

He sank into his chair and held out his hands. “Tell me about your home?”

She turned back, studying him. “Do you mock me, my prince?”

“What?”

“Why should you want to know what my home is like? I will never see it again, better I forget it than torment myself by describing it to you. Will you violate even my memories?” 

“Violate-?”

“Shall my one comfort become the point of conversation between you and the Queen? Will you laugh at what I tried to save, what I risked my own flesh for?” 

“I have not spoken to my mother since-” he swallowed, inclining his head, “-that night. I certainly have not belittled you to her, or anyone! I only thought you might want to talk about your home, that it might bring you some comfort, but if you wish instead to be angry with me, so be it.” He got to his feet, crossing their bedchamber in a few swift strides. At the door he stopped, his hand on the handle. “I am sorry,  _ nula _ , but I didn’t want this, either.”

He took care not to slam either door on his way out, but leaned against the door to the receiving chamber once he had closed it behind himself. It was perhaps a little unfair to say he hadn’t wanted it at all, but he had never expected things to turn out the way they had. He didn’t blame her for wanting to return home, return to where she felt safe and loved. Simultaneously, he wanted to go back, too. Not to a physical place--the palace was, and always had been his home--but to a different time; one where his mother was still soft and warm, where his biggest worries were doing well at lessons and avoiding Vlad’s bullying. 

He hadn’t meant any harm in his question, either. He had truly thought speaking about her home would help, remind her of a happier time and place, give her some of her strength back. Slowly, he pulled himself away from the door, taking a few steadying breaths. If she was going to be angry, perhaps he had a way to harness that, to fuel it into healing.

\---

Olivier was lying down, not truly napping but trying to when Buccaneer returned. She pushed herself up, taking a few deep breaths and reminding herself that whatever she felt, whatever she said, she would have to live with the consequences. Her heart rate accelerated when she that he was carrying a sword with him, alarm and confusion mingling.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said easily, “I thought I’d practice with this in here a bit, it’s not what I’m used to and I’d rather not give the guards opportunity to mock me.”

“I-” her breath caught in her throat, anger overcoming her other emotions, and she fell silent. The sword, which seemed comically small in his big hands, was more than a little familiar to her. The exquisite craftsmanship, the ornate floral pattern, even the ever-so-slight nick on the handle, every part of the sword was as well known as her own hands. 

Buccaneer gave her a look almost challenging as he moved into position and began the first exercises taught to any new swordsman. On only the third movement, he dropped the sword which clattered loudly on the floor and set a fire of rage ablaze in her belly. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye as he scooped it up with a cheerful “oops!” and an entirely-too-casual air.

“You’d think something so small would be easier to manage,” he said, still cheerful, as he sent the weapon skittering across the floor for the third or fourth time. As he picked it up entirely wrong and moved to poorly execute another exercise she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Have you held a sword a day in your life, you imbecile?!” She leapt off the bed and snatched it from him. “Your stance is wrong, you aren’t balancing it, and you hold it like a stick, not a part of you! Look-” she demonstrated the correct stance, the sword held out before her, unwavering and steady even with her arm fully extended, “-the sword isn’t some crossbow that you can hold however you please. It is a part of you, you must treat it with respect. Care for it and it will care for you. Throw it across the floor like some animal and you’ll die like an animal, abandoned by your own weapon.”

“So,” Buccaneer said softly, pleased but not entirely smug, and she lowered the sword, caught, “this is what you did instead of practicing your embroidery.”

“I-” she set the sword carefully on the table, sliding it toward him. “This was my grandfather’s, his father’s before him, and I used to watch him train with it. That is all.”

“It used to be your grandfather’s, but it hasn’t been for a long time, has it?”

“Well, obviously, it was part of my dowry, so it is yours.”   

“Not mine,” he slid the sword closer to her again, “it has been yours for years now, am I correct?”

She ran a finger along the flat of the blade, regarding the sword like an old friend, “you are correct, my prince.” 

“Then take it back, Olivier.” 

“What?” 

“It is not suited to me, and even if it were, taking it would be no less than theft. A sword as good as this belongs to a swordsman as talented as you.”

“You have no idea of my skill, for all you know, I might well have mastered only the exercises in the first.”

“Exercises in the first do not give you the muscle, balance, and coordination I have seen in you. Besides,” he smiled at her, “I have seen you practicing in the garden.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “And here I thought I was stealthy.”

“Oh, you are. I had the advantage, though, I grew up playing in those gardens and you did not. You simply could not have known all the places I could observe you from.” 

“So,” her voice was calm, but laced with finality, “you know what I am capable of and yet you return my sword to me. If I chose to, I could slit your throat before you even saw me coming.”  

“So you could,” he agreed, bowing his head, “but I trust that should you ever decide to do so, I will have done something to deserve it.” 

She took the sword, looking as though she still did not know what to think. “You called me by my name. You have never done so.”

“I did not realize until you started this ‘my prince’ business, how impersonal it is to have someone simply decide what they will call you, regardless of your own opinion.” 

“You would prefer I ignore your mother and call you Buccaneer as though I were some sort of equal to you?” 

“I would very much prefer it,” he reached carefully for her hand and smiled when she took it, “and I will do my best to call you Olivier, if you would prefer.”

“Call me what you like, Buccaneer, I do not mind.”

“Very well,  _ nula. _ ” His smile stretched across his whole face and she could not help but return it.

\---

Her parent’s return letter came with a gift. Olivier was confused as she made her way down to the stables. The letter spoke of her prized mare, and while she loved to ride, she had no such treasured animal, rotating through her family’s steads as necessary for the type of riding she wished to do. She could only suppose there was some secret message or smuggled object in the tack. 

Her body ached, though her skin had scabbed over and bled when she scratched it too fiercely, her back was still badly bruised, the welts not yet faded. Her muscles, too, were sore from throwing herself back into weaponed training a little too vigorously. Even so, she knew if there were some secret she would need to find it before Clarese had time to learn of it, and so she pressed on.

“Hello, beautiful,” she murmured to the mare, a truly stunning animal, at least seventeen hands and muscular, black and silky. She ran her hands over her, and pressed her face into her side, breathing deeply. There was something inherently calming about horses, and she thought she could stand there for hours, but she was determined to inspect everything, to see why the mare had been sent.

“Is everything to your satisfaction, Princess?” 

Her heart soared, even as she could scarcely believe her ears. The voice behind her was warm and rich, lilting, and ever so slightly, insolent. She was almost afraid to turn around, fearing her mind was playing tricks on her, but that voice,  _ that voice, _ could belong to only one person. 

She turned and found herself face to face with someone who she had truly believed she would never see again. Tears pricked her eyes as she opened her arms to him.  _ “Miles!” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	8. Rendezvous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! I have another chapter for you. 
> 
> Happy reading!

“I don’t understand,” Olivier was speaking quietly, but not so quietly as to alarm the stablehands, who she knew did not speak her language, “why are you here?”

Miles glanced at her as he worked loose the mare’s girth, holding himself as though he were a mere groom, showing the princess her new horse. “Your last letter home was,” he paused a moment, considering, “alarming.”

“Alarming? I tried very hard to make it not so.”

“Exactly.” He pulled the saddle off, setting it carefully on the rack. “It did not sound like you; It was messy and confusing.” He fixed her with one of his looks, red eyes boring into her. “It seemed as though it were written under duress.” 

“Oh.” She took a brush and began brushing the mare, not looking at him. “It was not.”

“ _ Olivier, _ ” his hand stopped her brushing and she turned to him, “you know I can always tell when you’re lying.” 

“Then you can tell that I am not lying now.” She made no move to break his hold on her wrist, knowing he would not let himself be seen doing something so improprietous. 

“You are hiding something.” 

“I-” a door opened at the end of the barn and he released her at once. She lowered her head slightly, as though to look closer at the mare. “I cannot show you now. Will you be here later?”

He nodded. “Maya here is not used to the altitude, she will need care and training to adjust to her new life. Who better than a lifelong groom like myself?” 

Her lips twitched even as she narrowed her eyes at him. “I swear, Miles, if you kill my horse-”

He laughed quietly, “I won’t! I have always been good with horses, you know this.”

“Still, you are  _ not _ a groom.” 

“I promise you, I will take good care of Maya.”

She shook her head, amused. “Very well. Tell me, is all well at home?” 

“It is.” He smiled at her as he crossed around to begin coming Maya’s tail. “Your family is worried about you, but they are doing well.” 

She nodded, trusting him more than her letters. “And you?”

There was a pause as he worked at a particularly difficult knot. “Lady Solaris gave me her handkerchief.”

“Oh!” Olivier gave him a curious look, having to step away from the horse to even see him, her fingers in Maya’s main. “And you took it?” 

“I-” he dropped the tail to run his hand through his own hair “-I did not know what to do. I told her I could not be a suitor to her, but she insisted.”

“I would be happy, if you would like, to write her and say that you are a heartless monster, incapable of love.”

Miles snorted at that. “ _ That _ would not help any of the rumors.”

“Better for you that they think you’re a fool in love with a woman who can never love you, than know the truth.”

“Perhaps.” He began braiding, thoughtfully, “perhaps I could be happy with, well not Lady Solaris, but someone like her.”

“Miles-”

“I know how to pretend, Olivier, I could make someone happy.”

She reached around to rest her hand on his arm, gently. “Do not forget that you deserve to be happy, too.” 

He caught her hand, squeezing it for a moment. “I am not the only one, Liv.”

\---

Meeting Miles in the hayloft after dark was beyond risky, but Olivier was willing to take a chance. Buccaneer was still snoring as she rose and dressed in a simple black gown she had hidden in the back of her wardrobe, covered her hair with a scarf, put her sword at her hip, and slipped out of their chambers. She knew better than to make her way down to the first floor before exiting, instead climbing out a window and letting herself fall into the garden, rolling carefully to avoid hurting herself too badly. 

She was fairly certain she had reopened some of the scabs on her back as she picked herself up and struggled to catch her breath. She adjusted her scarf and kept moving, knowing that even looking like a servant she couldn’t allow herself to be caught sneaking around. None of the guards would think twice before doling out punishment to a servant and if they recognized her they would surely awaken Clarese over Buccaneer. 

Miles was sitting in the hay when she arrived and he held his arms out to her, wordlessly. She fell into them and he held her without words or judgment. She leaned into his shoulder and breathed deeply. His embrace felt like home and she wanted to cry. After several long minutes he pushed her away slightly so he could meet her eyes.

“Liv, tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“I have known you far too well for far too long to think you don’t understand me.” He smiled softly, “is he very cruel?” 

“No, I do not think so.” 

Miles frowned,  “earlier, when I embraced you, you flinched at my touch.”

“It was not because of him.” She sighed when he continued to frown at her, waiting for her to explain. “The letter you spoke of, when I wrote it, I had been arguing with Buccaneer and I was upset because he was taking the Queen’s advice over my own.”

“Ah, a foolish man, who would ignore your advice.”

“Oh, hush you.” She shot him a look without real malice. “It would have been well enough, had I left it there, but I did something very foolish. When the Queen found out, which was quite quickly, she-” she broke off, drawing a breath to steady herself. “I was punished.” 

Miles tilted his head, still outwardly calm, reserving his judgement, though she could see he was suspicious and angry. “Show me?”

She nodded and turned away, reaching behind herself to pull on the laces of her gown which opened easily. She felt cold air on her back and shivered, but it was nothing compared to the weight of Miles’ gaze as he took in her injuries.

“Oh, Liv.” 

“It isn’t so bad.”

“Only you would say so.” He gathered the laces back, redoing them silently, sweeping her hair back off her shoulders and down her back when he was finished. 

“So, what will you tell my family?” 

“I am not yet decided,” he admitted, “I do not wish to alarm them and, besides, King Bradley is very pleased with you.”   

“Oh?”

“The hogs were exactly what we needed to supply the troops at the border of Creta.” 

She turned to look at him surprised. “He thinks I had a hand in that?” 

“Queen Clarese said she had considered sending less, but that you were very persuasive. Is that untrue?”

“I suppose not.”

He smiled at her again, even as she was already brushing herself off and winding the scarf back around her face. “Then you have done well, Olivier.” 

\---

It would be her first time coming face to face with Clarese since she had been beaten, and Olivier already wanted to turn back as Buccaneer reached for the dining chamber door. It was, she reminded herself, only the midday meal and Clarese, Nannette, and Vlad were a small audience to face. Her sword was at her hip, concealed by folds in the fabric, but easily accessible, and the promise of an afternoon ride calmed her.

“Oh!” The Queen almost looked surprised for a moment, but recovered quickly. “I had not realized you planned to join us today.” She waved for a servant to set places for them, “please, sit.”

“I am glad to see you are recovered, my dear.” Nannette smiled beningly at Olivier who looked impassively back at her. 

“I thought you were going to sulk forever,” Vlad remarked, almost casually, “but I suppose you’ve seen there is no point. Things are not so soft up here as they are at your home.”

“Do  _ not _ -”

“It’s alright, Buccaneer.” Olivier laid a soft hand on his arm, clearing her throat. “You’re right things are not done the same way in Amestris.” She raised her gaze to meet Clarese’s eyes, her face set like stone. “King Bradley would never turn an ally into an enemy for something so foolish.”

There was a long silence, broken only by Vlad snorting with laughter. “Well,  _ Mother _ , it looks like you’ve finally met someone you can’t break.”

Clarese shot him a look that would have curdled milk. “That’s enough out of you.” 

“Oh is it?” 

Nannette reached across the table. “Have you been drinking already?”

“Lay off you harpy.” Vlad pulled his goblet back toward himself. “She keeps you in her pocket, feeds you her scraps, and for what? So she can keep you around to do her dirty work-”

“That is enough!” Clarese slapped the table top, rings making the sound even louder. “I will not have such talk in my-”

“Or what? Will I go the way of my mother?”

“Your  _ mother  _ was a worthless whore and you should be grateful-”

“Grateful?!” 

“I raised you as my own! I should have thrown you out into the streets when your mother passed!”

“Passed?” Vlad was halfway to his feet, “you-”

Clarese beat him to her own feet, “get out!” She put a hand to her forehead. “All of you! Get out!” 

Buccaneer took Olivier’s arm and practically dragged her out and down the hallway. “I am so sorry,  _ nula. _ I have seen them argue, but never like this. I think, perhaps, my Aunt was right. He has been in the wine entirely too much.” 

“I have seen worse arguments, never fear.” She smiled up at him, something that seemed effortful. “I will say, I am a little disappointed. I saw there was venison and a lovely looking plum tart. I might have even risked her derision for a second helping, I am rather hungry.”

He smiled back, more easily. “I have always gotten on well with the cooks; we should go down to the kitchens and see if they have more food.” 

“That sounds lovely.” 

He took her arm again, softly this time, and began leading her down the hall. “You seem quite calm considering everything that has happened.” 

“I went on a ride this morning and that has always calmed me.”

“I am glad to hear it.” He paused at the edge of a spiraling stair, smaller and steeper than the ones to their quarters. “You seem a little perplexed, still.”

“I confess, I was surprised when Vlad spoke of his mother. I saw that your mother preferred you, but I assumed it was because you were the older son.”

“Ah.” He started down the steps. “I can understand why you would think that, but I am not older.”

“What?” He heard her stop behind him and he turned back. “You are the crown prince, how?” 

“My mother made it so.” 

She made no movement to keep going. “How?” 

He sighed, “it isn’t often talked about, but before I was born my father had an affair with a lady of the court. When my brother was born, my mother was furious. She was expecting me already and when I was born healthy and safe, she-” he shrugged a shoulder and made a snipping motion.

Olivier stared at him, obviously trying to decide whether or not to believe him. “She--he was the  _ king. _ ”

He nodded. “And her own husband. I believe she threatened to kill him if he didn’t declare me the legitimate heir and so he did. He was never as healthy after that, although he managed to live until last year.”

“What happened to your brother’s mother, then?”

“I do not know.”

“How can you not know?”

“I have heard every variation of the tale, from throwing herself over the parapets to poison, but there is no one who will know or admit to knowing what truly happened.” 

He turned and began walking again, but her hand descended on his shoulder and stopped him once more. “So, this is why you are so afraid.”

“For you? Yes.”

Her hand slipped off his shoulder and he finally made his way all the way down to the kitchen in the underbelly of the palace. She took his hand as they stepped through the doors into a sheer cacophony. The cooks were already preparing for the evening meal, but they smiled as they handed them laden plates of food and sent them on their way. 

They ate in the gardens and then separated, Olivier choosing to practice with her sword and Buccaneer needing to attend meetings with several tribal leaders. Between rounds of her exercises, she walked around the gardens scouting the best places to hide with Miles when they met up again. Buccaneer had been right, she noticed, there were a lot of places to hide: unexpected clearings, gaps between parapets, greenhouse structures, and more.

Miles was running out of time and excuses, and though she was tired from their nightly rendezvous, she refused to miss a single opportunity to see him. Buccaneer had been right, she noticed, there were a lot of places to hide: unexpected clearings, gaps between parapets, greenhouse structures, and more. She was more determined to make it work, with every discovery.  

\---

Miles kissed her forehead when he slid into their hiding place, a gap in the trees up against a tall retaining wall. “Did you eat with the Queen today?”

She groaned, “I tried. She had a fight with Buccaneer’s brother, though, and it all went wrong.”

His brow creased in concern. “Are you well?” 

“I am well, but here-” she slipped a folded piece of parchment into his hands, “-an explanation for my parents. They may find it helpful.” 

He nodded. “How are you healing? Still better every day?”

It was her turn to nod, “Buccaneer still insists on putting a balm on it every night and I feel fine.” Miles raised a critical brow, having seen her winces, however much she tried to suppress them, when they were out exercising Maya. “You worry too much.”

“I cannot be the only one if Buccaneer has been insisting in continuing to treat you.”

She smiled a little, “perhaps, he also worries too much.” 

“You do not mind?” He leaned in closer, his red eyes scrutinizing every inch of her face. She stared right back, unflinching, even as his nose brushed against hers. His voice was quiet, barely a whisper, as he asked, “do you love him?”

She didn’t whisper, but she did not feel she was being overly loud as she replied, “I would not go so far as to speak of love-”

“Well-” she leapt away from Miles, or tried to, the man was too startled to release her hands, at the familiar, but angry, voice “-I suppose I should be comforted by  _ that _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around! 
> 
> Please let me know what you think. :)


	9. Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies, I have another chapter for you! 
> 
> Happy reading!

Buccaneer hadn’t wanted to believe the whispers, the rumors, that his bride was sneaking around behind his back. He knew she was spending a lot of time down at the stables, but then the mare had, as far as he was aware, been her favorite. The stables, too, were a good distance down from the palace and there was no way his mother or brother would be caught there, fetching or tacking up their own horses, like common peasants. It was probably a nice escape for her.

But, then, there was the matter of the empty bed. The first time he’d woken to a cold spot beside him he had assumed she was sitting by the fire, as she often did, and fallen back asleep. It was only after several nights of this that he had become concerned. Still, he thought there had to be some other reason, something he was missing. She wanted this to work, if not for the sake of their marriage, but for the sake of the treaty. So, when Vlad had come up to him, smirking and informing him he had seen her seeming very  _ close _ with the groom who had brought her mare, he had brushed him off.

Even following her out into the night, he had thought there had been some other reason. And then he saw her with  _ him. _ They were holding hands and talking quietly, the mysterious man even leaning in for a kiss. Their was guilt all over their faces when he made his presence known.

The groom had been surprised for a moment, caught off guard, but he released Olivier to shift himself in front of her, fixing Buccaneer with dark, wary, eyes. His fingers twitched toward his hip, a slight gesture, but one Buccaneer was familiar with.  _ Another swordsman. _

“Miles-” Olivier gripped the man’s shoulder, attempting to slip around him, but the man pushed his shoulder back into her way, determination to keep himself between them apparent, “-it is alright.” 

“Is it?” Buccaneer asked, cooly. He stepped toward them--toward this Miles character--squinting to make out his features in the darkness of the waning moon. He was tall, not as tall as Buccaneer, but still tall, his shoulders broad and his arms muscular, but what stood out to Buccaneer was the silver of his hair, glowing in the pale moonlight, his dark skin, and dark eyes the color of which he could not make out. He supposed the man could only be called handsome, which was only salt in the wound. 

“Buccaneer, please do not misunderstand-” she was speaking placatingly, but confidently.

“What is there to misunderstand? Even your lover can see how plain your guilt is.” He shifted slightly, leaning down to the other man’s level, reminding him just how much of a height difference there was between them. “You can move, lover boy, I won’t hurt her.” 

Miles didn’t flinch. “Why should I believe you?” 

“Miles-” Olivier gave him a slight shove, finally pushing her way out from behind him, “-stop it. Buccaneer, it isn’t-”

“You violated the conditions of the treaty.” It broke his heart, but he could see no way around it. “I cannot keep this from the tribal leaders.”   

For a moment, the fear showed clearly on Olivier’s face. She shook her head. “I haven’t, Buccaneer, you have to believe me.”  

“Really? You have snuck out in the middle of the night every night for weeks, spent every spare moment with this-” he gestured vaguely, “- _ groom _ .” He choked on his words, “There is only one reason to do so.” 

Olivier shook her head, opening her mouth, but Miles grabbed her arm, silencing her. “Let me-”

Buccaneer reached out one hand and shoved him in the chest. “Get your  _ filthy  _ hands off my wife.” Miles stiffened for a moment and released her arm. Olivier didn’t wince or rub her wrist, only gave Miles a sort of awkward half-smile. Miles’ touch didn’t bother her the way his own did. “I-” he shook his head, “-it isn’t as though it matters now, is it?” He turned on his heel, rubbing his head which was now throbbing. “I have to think.” 

Olivier watched his stomping journey for a moment, before turning to Miles. “Stay the night. I’ll make him see reason, I swear it, but if you flee it will only make you seem guilty.”

Miles nodded, “I will not leave you to face this alone.”

She rose on her toes, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Miles.”  

She hoped Buccaneer had returned to their chambers and had not gone off to the baths or somewhere else he like to spend time, but that would be hard for her to access. The door to their receiving chambers was slightly ajar as though he had slammed it and it had rebounded open, but the bedchamber door was locked. She knocked on it carefully.

“Buccaneer?” There was no response as she leans against the door, straining her ears. She thinks she hears a sniffle, but surely Buccaneer isn’t crying. “Please, let me explain. I promise you, it isn’t what you think.” He still gave no response and she sighed, sliding down the door to sit on the floor, wincing as her throbbing back scraped across the wood. 

“Miles is my oldest and dearest friend. We were children together, and when we were grown-” she paused, swallowed, and went on, “-there were people who thought we would wed, yes, but Miles never made a move. 

“He joined the Order of the Rose. It’s my father’s order, one of the most prestigious in the nation. It’s not impossible for those knights to get married, but it is difficult. I won’t pretend that I do not love him, but I am not in love with him. He is not in love with me.”

“How can you be so sure?” She almost jumped at the sound of Buccaneer’s voice so close to hers, before realizing he was sitting on the floor on the opposite side of the door. He sounded like he had come down with a sudden cold.

“I just am, I cannot tell you how, but I know him almost as well as myself. He could never love me the way you think he does.”

“How could he not?” 

“What?” 

“You are so  _ incredible _ . It’s not just that you are beautiful, although you are; you are also intelligent and caring and-” he broke off. 

“I am flattered by your words, however misguided I may find them. I have made many mistakes since coming here, not the least of which-”

“If I could, I would let you go.”

Her heart skipped, she could feel tears pricking her eyes, the wind going out of her, at his quiet but earnest words.  _ “What?” _

“I need you, Briggs needs you, but if we didn’t-” he sounded like he was about to cry, “-I would let you go be with him; be happy.”    

She tilted her head back, stemming the tears that were trying to escape. “You would do that for me? Why?”

“You know why.” 

She shook her head, silenced, simultaneously wanting to hear him say it and very much wanting to not hear him say it.

“I love you, Olivier.”

\---

Miles was not sure what to expect when he was summoned to the Prince’s receiving chambers, but he went without complaint, his head held high. He was surprised when he entered, to see not only Buccaneer sitting and waiting, but Olivier beside him. He looked from one to the other and saw that neither looked like they had slept well the night before.

“You wanted to see me, Your Highnesses?” 

“Please, sit.” Buccaneer gestured to a seat across from them, and Miles crossed to sit in it, eyes fixed on Olivier’s face. She was deliberately avoiding his gaze and he wondered what she was trying to conceal from him. Before he could ponder too long, Buccaneer was speaking again. “I wanted to speak with you, get some clarification, before I went to the tribal leaders.”

“I appreciate that.” He shifted his gaze back to meet Buccaneer’s eye. “What can I clarify for you?”

“If, in truth, you-” Buccaneer stopped, eyes widening in surprise. “You are Ishvalan?” 

Miles raised his eyebrows coolly. “Not entirely.”

“I did not think Ishvalans could seek knighthood in Amestris.”

“My grandfather was an Ishvalan, he could not seek knighthood. I could and obtained it.” 

“Miles’ family is landed.” Olivier interjected, still not entirely looking at him. “Their land borders my parents’, and they have long had a good relationship. Miles was an excellent addition to the Order of the Rose.”

“So, if that is clear to you, Your Highness, what did you want to ask me?”

Buccaneer cleared his throat, “if you do not seek a romantic relationship with my wife, what are you after?” 

“O-” he paused at the look on Buccaneer’s face, “-the Princess’ welfare was called into question. Duke Armstrong requested I come to see if she was well, but it had to be done discreetly. Obviously, I failed that part. I am sorry, Olivier.”

“It is not your fault, I was the one who was indiscreet. I was lonely and homesick and afraid. It is I who should apologize.” She finally looked at him and he saw her eyes were puffy and red.

“Olivier has assured me of her lack of romantic intention toward you, but can you make the same assurances?” 

Miles drew a long breath, knowing his next words could make all the difference in Buccaneer’s decision, and the consequences could be dire; for himself, for Olivier, for their countries. “I can. I-” 

“Miles, no!” Olivier sat up straighter, looking half ready to throw herself at him to silence him. “It’s not worth-”

“Olivier, let me.” 

She fell silent as Buccaneer looked from one to the other, bewildered.

“Promise me you will not hurt her? That the treaty will stand?”

“If your words convince me.”

Miles swallowed, hard. “I am, I do not know the word for it in your language, but I love men.” He saw the lack of understanding on the other man’s face. “I want to be with a man in the way that you are with your wife. So, now you know. You can beat me, throw me in prison, kill me, whatever you want, as long as Olivier is safe, I do not care.”

Buccaneer was staring at him, with a look of growing disgust on his face. “Why?” He shrugged, never having known how to answer that question. “Why would I do any of those things?” 

“What?!” He and Olivier were staring at Buccaneer in shock, both thinking they had to have heard him wrong. 

Confusion grew on the prince’s face until he asked, “are such desires met with hostility in Amestris?” 

“Expressing ‘such desires’ to the wrong person would definitely end in death in Amestris. Is it not so here?” 

“Not at all! Traditionally, the tribes lived in villages all throughout the mountains. For half the year the men would go on hunting expeditions and the women would remain in the village to keep it running. They would be apart from each other so long, attachments would form amongst the men and amongst the women. It’s not unheard of, even in the villages today, for a husband and a wife to have a marriage only for legal heirs and for them each to have their own lover, of their own gender, living with them and helping raise the family all together.” 

“You are not serious?” Miles was staring at him, half hopeful, half feeling as though the bigger man were about to laugh and sentence him to the gallows. 

“I am quite serious.” Buccaneer looked relieved. “You truly do not feel any such  _ desires _ toward Olivier?” 

“No! It would be like-” he waved his hands vaguely, looking nauseated, “-with my sister. I love her, with all my heart, but she’s, you know, a woman.”

Buccaneer laughed a little, “that she is.”

“She is still sitting here!” Olivier tried to sound indignant, but she was smiling. She turned to Buccaneer, “is all well?” He nodded, and she did something that surprised all three of them; she reached up to grab both sides of his face, pulled him down to her level, and pressed her lips to his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter.
> 
> Please do let me know what you think. :)


	10. Nula

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

Buccaneer’s hands hovered in the air pointlessly as she pulled away, dropping her own hands into her lap. 

“I-” Buccaneer was plainly dazed, his cheeks turning the color of a fresh strawberry, hovering fingers brushing tentatively over his lips. 

Miles shot Olivier--who was sporting a bit of pink on her own cheeks--a look. “I’ll just, um, I’ll--farewell.” He shot her one final look as he made his way out the door. The silence that followed the closing door stretched on for what felt like an eternity. 

“Sorry.” She wasn’t looking at him, staring instead at her hands.

He reached a shaking hand out to cup her cheek, gently turning her face toward him. He wanted to tell her not to be sorry, that her kiss was a gift he scarcely deserved, but that he would gladly receive again and again, but the words wouldn’t come. His heart felt like it would burst, a thousand feelings rushing through him, more than he can name or explain. The silence fell again and stretched like an evening shadow.

Her face twisted, and she started to pull away, “I thought-”   

His heart dropped at the realization she was misinterpreting his silence. He wasn’t unhappy at all, but rather hoping that it wasn’t just her gratitude that had driven her to kiss him. He wanted her to  _ want  _ to the close contact, not to give it only out of gratitude or a feeling of owing him. She hadn’t replied to his confession, or really spoken to him since and he was afraid he had crossed a line. They were married, certainly, but he had no right to presume affection, physical or otherwise. On the other hand, the kiss was the possible start of something new and he was on the verge of losing her as they sat in silence. 

He leaned down and gracelessly smashed his lips against hers, noses bumping rather hard. She didn’t seem to mind, though, shifting a little to grab his upper arms. His hands settled on her hips, which filled them perfectly. Her hands slid along his arms, grappling a little before wrapping around his neck. They barely separated even to breathe, the flood of physical contact reminiscent of the spring ice melts: sudden and powerful.

Buccaneer’s desire increased with every moment, every touch. He dared to slide his hands off her hips, up her waist, and around to her back. The response was instantaneous. Olivier made a noise that he knew in a heartbeat was pain, not pleasure, pulling away. 

“I am so sorry! I forgot-” She didn’t give him a chance to finish, getting to her feet, a hand on her face. He realized his mistake in a painful instant. “ _ Nula, _ please, I-” 

For the second time in nearly ten minutes he watched the door practically slam shut behind a rapidly retreating figure. He slumped on the settee, rubbing his eyes. He was beyond frustrated. He  _ wanted _ her, but not as much as he wanted her happiness. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten what had happened to her, but in that moment, he hadn’t been thinking, simple as that. He had wanted to hold her, be closer and closer, and hadn’t even thought about where his hands were roaming. 

He sighed and got to his feet. He thought Olivier would rather he not chase her down, but rather give her space. Still, he could not sit back and do nothing. Miles knew her far better than he did, perhaps better than he ever would, and as such he was determined to go down to the stables and speak with the man. 

He was stopped just outside the door by a page boy. He groaned before he could stop himself. “I have a meeting, don’t I?”

The pageboy smiled just slightly, “yes, My Prince.”

\---

Miles had only been in the stables, packing up his belongings, for ten or so minutes when Olivier arrived, face red and countenance troubled. She caught him by the arm and nearly dragged him into the room that had been alloted for his use. He went without complaining, falling onto his cot as she misestimated how large the room was. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Everything!” 

He raised his eyebrows, getting to his feet and embracing her, even though she looked angry as could be. “Everything?” It sounds like an exaggeration, and if they’d been back home, he would have questioned her, but here, it really could be true. “What happened? You two seemed-” he broke off, struck by a sudden thought, “-did he try to force you?” 

“No,” she made a noise that he thought was frustration, “he kissed me back.”

He frowned in confusion. “And?”  

“And it was nice!” 

He bit his lip. An emotional Liv was always a confusing one. “Did-” he cleared his throat, “-did you panic and run away?”

“No.” She sounded a little petulant. “Not until  _ after. _ ”

“After?” He tried not to sound too impatient, but she was making little sense. 

“He called me ‘wife’!” 

“Oh, I s-” he shook his head, “no, I do not see.”

“Always, he calls me wife!” She threw her hands in the air as he blinked at her. “He said that he loved me, and still!”

“He said that he loved you? And so you ran?”

“No! Last night, he said it!”

“Ah.” He finally began to understand, gently rubbing her arm. “Names here, they are not so often used, are they?”

“Not in public, but in private.” 

“Perhaps he thinks you do not want to be called by your name? That you would find it too personal?” 

“I told him I did not mind.”

_ “Ah. _ ”

“Miles, why do you take such a tone?” She glared at him as he smiled slightly. 

“When you say that you do not mind something, it sounds grudging.”

“Does not!”

“You are contrary by nature, you always have been.”

“I am not con-” she huffed, catching herself “-oh stop it!”     

He smiled gently, if with some amusement, “take Maya out for a ride and clear your head. When you come back, go and speak with Buccaneer again. Try to be calm.”

“The guards will not let me go for a ride alone-”

“That never stopped you at home.”

“I suppose you are right.”

“I know I am.” He laughed, “now, go on.” 

Rolling her eyes, she went. He sat back on his cot and waited. It might take longer, but he knew Olivier would  _ not  _ be his only visitor. Sure enough, nearly an hour and a half later, there was a knock on his door.

He set aside his book and rose. “Enter!” He offered the large man a polite bow when Buccaneer pushed his way in, waiting to let him close the door before speaking. “Your Highness, I wondered when you would be by.”

“Is she here, then?” Buccaneer looked around as though Olivier might be hidden in some unseen corner. 

Miles shook his head, pouring out two cups of tea, taking one and handing the other to Buccaneer. “I sent her away already.”

“You  _ sent  _ her?” Buccaneer queried, incredulous.

“It’s easy enough if you know her.” Miles smiled kindly at the look on the prince’s face. “Have a seat, Your Highness, and I will try to aid you.” Buccaneer occupied the lone chair in the corner and Miles perched on his cot again, unconcerned. “Now, what troubles you?”

“You spoke to her, surely you know.”

“I have some ideas, however, Olivier-” he paused for a moment, ensuring Buccaneer wasn’t about to fly off the handle, “-is a complex person. For her, emotions are... _ difficult. _ ”

There was a long moment as they simply looked at one another, waiting for the other to speak. Miles’ quiet patience won out and Buccaneer cleared his throat, “I told her I loved her.”

“And she said nothing?” At the bigger man’s nod, he went on. “I do not think she knew how to respond. You say that you love her and yet, everyday she suffers. However gilded, this palace is a cage to her.”

“If I could, I would let her go!”

Miles froze, cup halfway to his mouth. “Did you tell her this?”

Buccaneer groaned. “Was that wrong?”

“Not wrong, necessarily. However,” Miles chose his words with extreme care, “you cannot set her free; not without consequences of a most severe nature.”

“They were empty words to her,” Buccaneer sighed, “I meant well, truly. Do you think she took it as taunting her?”

Miles nodded. “Unfortunately, that is possible. Although-” he tilts his head thoughtfully, “-she did not mention that in particular. She had other concerns.”

“What concerns?”

“I think, perhaps, there has been some form of misunderstanding. Sometimes, she can sound more, ah, aggressive than she means to. She feels slighted that you continue to call her ‘wife’.”

“What?”

“Is that not what you call her? She was being a little unclear.”

“I always call her  _ Nula,  _ but that-” the sound of his hand slapping his forehead echoed in the small room, “-she does not understand.” 

Miles’ smile was gentle. “Then perhaps you should tell her.” 

\---

The air was cold and crisp, both Olivier and Maya’s breath coming in puffs of white. The path she had chosen was a hunting trek, she was sure, but it was quiet and still save for the whoosh of the wind and the twittering of the birds. She hadn’t thought there would be as many this far north, but she was grateful for them, they made the path seem less lonely. Wolf tracks caught her eye and she wondered what it would be like to see one there in the mountains. Probably, it would look at her the same way Clarese did.

Under the canopy of the trees she found places where the snow had never melted and she dismounted, prodding at it with a curious finger. The cold sent a shock through her and she shivered. She thought, perhaps, she had seen snow once before, during a particularly cold winter, but she couldn’t say for sure.  

She rose and spread her arms, breathing deeply and relishing for once being truly alone. Maya knickered and she wrapped her arms around her neck, murmuring quietly to the creature. Miles had been right, she felt much better out in the woods and the fresh air, though the thought of what could happen if she was found out, sent waves of nausea through her.  

She did not know how long she spent simply wandering the paths of the forest, sometimes riding, sometimes walking, but at last she knew she must turn back. The thundering of hooves on the path further down the mountain alarmed her and she ducked and wove, pushing Maya down narrow paths and riding her harder than she intended. 

Later, she would admit she really did not understand how she made it back into the stables undetected. Miles’ face showed her just how risky her adventure had been as he took Maya’s reins. 

“I did not mean for you to be gone so long!” He hissed as she slid down nevertheless wrapping an arm around her. “You had best hurry and get back; you look a mess!”

She nodded, kissed his cheek and practically sprinted toward the main palace. She ran into Buccaneer in the halls outside their chambers. His face flooded with relief.

“Where have you been?”

“In the courtyards,” she lied, making no attempt to disguise the fact as she pushed her way around him. “Excuse me, Buccaneer, I want to get a new gown and then go to the baths.” 

He followed her in. “I need to speak to you.”

“Can it wait?” 

“No. Well-” he paused looking at her flushed and shivering from her ride and frantic race up to the palace, “-perhaps.” 

She sighed. “Walk down with me, then?” 

He flushed. “Oh, right.” He thought she rolled her eyes, but he ignored it. “Here, let me carry your things.” 

She shrugged, handing over the basket she’d gathered and setting off at a brisk pace. “What was it that you wanted to speak with me about?”  

“I realized that sometimes I use words that are not Drachmani, even though that is our official language and I am supposed to speak it and-”

“You are rambling.” Her tone was clipped, her eyes set straight ahead.

“What I am trying to say is, there are words that do not translate well, and I think perhaps you’ve gotten the wrong end of it.”

“Oh?” 

“ _ Nula- _ ”

She exhaled sharply, quickening her pace. He matched her easily, but she slipped ahead of him taking the narrow spiraling stairs quickly. He couldn’t fit beside her and he wasn’t about to make any more confessions to the back of her head. She pushed the door to the hot spring bath open more forcefully than necessary and he followed. The last thing he expected was for her to continue ignoring him and begin undressing. 

“Olivier, wait, I am trying to speak to you.” 

“I am listening.” 

He walked around to stand in front of her, trying not to fall into the bath. “Tell me, what do you think  _ nula  _ means?”

She hesitated for a moment, “it is obvious is it not?”

“It is not.” He reached a hand for shoulder, but at that moment she had succeeded in undoing her laces and her gown fell to the floor around her. He went scarlet, averting his gaze with difficulty. “ _ Nula  _ means something different to each person who uses it.” 

“How so?”

“It can mean anything from a simple ‘dearheart’ to ‘beloved’. It just depends. Regardless, it  _ is _ personal, it shows your love and is reinforced by your actions.”

She moved closer until he was forced to meet her gaze. “I do not understand.” 

He closed his eyes. “Then, let me show you.” His eyes opened again, wide in shock, as the world tilted and the air rushed around him. He didn’t even have time to let out a noise of surprise before he hit the water with a resounding splash. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Please let me know if you enjoyed it. :)


	11. Listen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! I have another chapter for you all. :)
> 
> Happy reading!

There was something inherently satisfying about watching Buccaneer resurface from beneath the bubbling water, with an indignant splutter. He swiped a hand over his face and coughed. 

“What was that for?”

She blinked. “What?”

“You pushed me!” 

“Nonsense. You fell entirely on your own.”

He snorted, but thought better than to argue when she was already standing over him, beyond just upset with him. She relaxed slightly, uncrossing her arms and shaking her head at him. 

“So, this is what you wanted to show me? You falling into a bath? Or-” she tilted her head, full lips curling upward, “-what comes after?”

He flushed. “Wha-” his voice came out unexpectedly pitchy and he cleared his throat, “-what do you mean?”

“It’s only fair. Last time we were down here together you saw me bare.”

“You’re not wrong.” He was blushing furiously and he knew it. “I wasn’t thinking about that, though-”

“Not then,” she acknowledged, lowering herself to sit on the edge of the basin, legs sliding into water that turned the thin fabric of her shift nearly invisible as it crept over her knees, “but I’ve seen the way you look at me.” He couldn’t deny it and smiled sheepishly up at her. She smiled back, inclining her head meaningfully. “Fair is fair.”

His hands trembled more than he cared to admit as he pulled his sopping tunic over his head, and tossed it over the edge of the basin. She raised her eyebrows and he began the more complicated process of trying to remove his boots and trousers without falling over. He spun in an awkward circle, extracting his legs and throwing the bundled trousers and boots onto the far edge of the basin. 

A small hand pressed against his shoulder and he jumped, turning back. A bundle of white fabric was crumpled on the floor. He swallowed  _ hard _ and slid his gaze over to Olivier. All the beautiful things he had seen in his life: sunrises and auroras, the frozen stillness at dawn after a blizzard, and none could compare to the sight of her. Her hair was still up from her ride, but tendrils of it escaped, dancing across her bare shoulders and chest. The water lapped at the underside of her breasts and he could only stare.  

To his surprise, a soft blush colored her cheeks and she bit her lip, suddenly unsure. He reached out his hand to cup her cheek, rubbing his thumb over her cheekbone, and then slid it down her neck, over her shoulder, and then down to grasp her breast. Soft, pliant, flesh filled his hand and he let out a noise he hoped she didn’t hear. Unthinking, his right arm went to her waist, sliding up to cup her other breast. She shivered at the sudden cold, goosebumps erupting across her skin, her nipple hardening. He whispered an apology, moving to pull his hand away, but she caught his wrist and held it in place. 

“You are pleased?”

He chuckled, the sound hoarser than he expected. “ _ Very. _ ”

Her flush deepened and she reached out, settling her hands on his shoulder as she stepped further into the water. His hands slid down her ribcage, over the dip of her waist, to catch her hips, pulling her closer to himself. The tug on his braid as she moved to kiss him was unexpectedly exhilarating. 

Their lips met with all the awkward grace of their earlier fervor. His hands slid around on her hips, wanting to grab at her backside, but not quite finding the courage, and a shock of pleasure went through him when her responding shift resulted in a brush against his, decidedly erect, shaft. He did not want to stop, quite the opposite, he wanted to lose himself in soft skin and draw out every sweet pleasure her body had to offer.  

He pulled back. “ _ Nula, _ wait.” She looked at him, questioningly. Her eyes were black, rimmed with a thin band of blue, the dark pink flush spreading down from her cheeks to her chest, and he wanted her more than he could ever remember wanting  _ anything _ . “Before we-” he swallowed, “-I will not ask you if you love me, I do not expect you to. But, I must know, when I say that I love you, do you believe me?” 

She blinked slowly and swallowed. “Does it matter?” 

“Yes!” He pulled back further, and her hands fell away from him. 

“I-” she looked away, “-I am sorry, Buccaneer.”

He sighed, but kept a hand on her hip, the other coming up to rest on her shoulder. “It is not your fault. I have not shown you as well as I should.”

“No, you have been nothing but kind; an admirable husband. I-”

“I have been an admirable husband for a very different kind of wife. You are not the kind of woman who wants to be coddled and plied with fancy gowns. I see that now.”

“Tch!” She shook her head, but there was no real edge. “You see that now?” 

“Well, perhaps I have always known, or at least suspected, but now I realize how little I did see. What can I do to show you how much I love you?”

“You know.” She sounded defeated, not believing that he could ever give her what she wanted. 

His fingers twitched against her skin as he thought. “Do you understand why I have kept you away from my meetings?” She shook her head. “The tribal leaders are men more ruthless than even my own mother, they would eat you alive.”

“I am not afraid!”

He smiled, in spite of himself. “That is half the problem; you should be!  _ I _ am afraid. The idea of letting you become involved in such dangerous dealings terrifies me!”

“Surely it is no more dangerous than being married to you.”

“You may be right. Regardless, I suppose it is not for me to decide the level of danger you are willing to be in.” Her eyes widened, her lips parting in surprise and uncertainty. “If you will agree to my terms, I will take you to my meetings.”

“Anything!” She clasped her hands together looking as though he had given her the greatest gift imaginable, rather than access to a part of his life that was somehow both mind-numbingly dull and dangerous.

“Hear my conditions before you agree.” She nodded, and he cupped her cheek again, smiling at her eager expression. His fingers slid back into her hair, tangled from her ride, and tugged on the jewelled pin holding it up. Her brow wrinkled in confusion, but she didn’t protest and gold locks spilled over his fingers. He tossed the pin onto her shift on the edge of the basin. “One, you may attend with me, but I do mean  _ with  _ me. You must stay by my side at all times.”

“I can do that.”

His smile deepened and he ran his fingers through her tangled locks. “You have leaves in your hair!”

She nodded, unfazed. “It happens. Your other conditions?” 

“You cannot say anything.” Her nose wrinkled and she opened her mouth, but he talked over her quickly. “It isn’t that I think you have no insights, I will be happy to hear those in private, but you do not know our customs, our ways. At best, they will humiliate and discredit you, at worst-” he sighed, “-I said they would eat you alive for a reason.”

“I can learn, Buccaneer, and I will.”

“I know, but until you are ready, you must do this for me. Olivier, I will not put you in any more danger.” She drew a deep breath, exhaling slowly, but nodded, pushing down her frustration. He gathered up a little water in his hands and poured it over her hair gently. “One more thing,  _ nula. _ ”

“No more letters home?” She guessed, faux lightly. 

“I do not think-” he paused, pulling a leaf from her hair, “-that will be necessary, however, I need your word that you will not tell them anything you learn in these meetings.”

“How will you ensure I am keeping my word?”

“I will trust you.” She stared, and he held up a hand, wet hair coming with it. “Please, do not break my trust. I will not be able to protect you if you do.”

She nodded. “I understand.”

“Good.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, before stepping away. He dug in the basket and pulled out a bottle of hair oil. When he turned back she was fully submerged. Water ran off her in rivulets as she reappeared, sopping hair clinging to her bare skin. His mouth ran dry but he forced himself to focus on the task at hand, pouring oil into his hands. “Turn around.”

Her brow furrowed, but she obeyed, biting her lip. He gathered her hair and began working the oil through it, gently coaxing the knots out, moving up to massage her scalp. She sighed contentedly and leaned into his touch.   

“Why are you doing this?” 

“Did you not want me to? I can stop-”

“No! I mean-” she laughed slightly, “-it feels nice. I simply do not understand the purpose in your washing my hair.”

“I simply thought it might be nice.” That, and he wanted to touch her in some way, even if it was just to wash her hair. She said nothing, letting him work in silence for several minutes before dunking her head again. The water filled with soap as they washed themselves.

“Truly you only meant it as a kind gesture?”

Buccaneer paused in oiling his facial hair to glance at her in confusion. “What?”

“The hair washing.”

“What else would it be?”

“A favor you would like returned.” She was looking at him almost shyly, seemingly torn between coquettishness and nervousness.

“Now that you mention it-” he smiled gently as her eyes widened, “-could you get me some dry clothes?”

She looked confused for a moment before smiling herself. “I suppose I can manage it.” 

He was torn between watching and respectfully looking away as she grabbed the edge of the tub and pulled herself up, muscles rippling and water running off pale skin. He settled for rescrubbing his arms and half-watching her as she toweled off and dressed. 

She paused to shoot him a mischievous look before she left. “It’ll take me a few minutes, so if there is anything you need to  _ take care of _ , now is the time.”

He was, somehow, even redder when the door closed behind her.

\---

“Your Highness, I did not expect to see you again.” Miles smiled inquisitively, but with the air of smooth politeness as though he was used to being barged in on at all times of day and night. “Is all well?”

“Yes.” Buccaneer settled himself on the lone chair in Miles’ lent room without being asked. “I wanted to thank you for your earlier advice.”

“I am flattered, but I do not think that was the only reason you sought me out in the middle of the night. I do not leave until mid morning tomorrow, surely such a simple matter could have waited.” 

“You are perceptive, my friend. There is a matter I wish to discuss with you, but it is a much larger thing.” Miles nodded, gesturing for him to go on. “You said before it was easy for you to send Olivier away because you knew her.”

“Do not take that to mean I can somehow control her-”

“No, no, of course not!” Buccaneer waved a hand, banishing his alarm. “It is not control I seek, but security, or rather, protection.”

“Is she in danger?”

“I will not pretend otherwise. She is now our crown princess and an outsider, and there are those who are not pleased by this.”

Miles nodded. “And what is it that you need from me?”

“I have come to ask that you do not return to Amestris. Stay here and become her personal guard. Protect her with your life and I will reward you handsomely.”

“I would be glad to do so, Your Highness, however there is some difficulty.”

“Difficulty?”

“As you know, I have sworn fealty to Duke Armstrong. There is no doubt in my mind that he would release me in the name of protecting his daughter, but my services were pledged to Lord Raven for six months time in return for some services he rendered to my duke. If I do not go and fulfill my obligation my widowed mother-”

“I understand,” Buccaneer assured, trying to sooth the man whose face was riddled with guilt. 

“The work that I am contracted to do is rather dangerous, but if I am able, I will gladly return when my service is completed.”

“I would be glad of it.” 

“I truly wish I could stay and protect her. When my duke asked me to take the work, it was commonly understood that Olivier would marry Lord Raven. I had hoped to protect her there.”

“You truly care for her,” Buccaneer murmured, somewhat wonderingly.

“I do,” Miles agreed, nodding, “which is why I am so pained by being able to protect her.” 

“I-” he broke off as the door swung open.

“Miles, I--oh! Buccaneer!”

“Olivier!” 

“I would have brought more furniture with me, if I knew how many people I would need to host in my room,” Miles said mildly, watching the pair stare at each other in surprise.

“I came to see him one more time before he leaves. Is that alright with you?” 

They were ignoring him, and Miles sipped his tea, before muttering something about “sexual tension you could cut with a knife”.

“Of course,  _ nula _ .”

“So, Olivier,” Miles cleared his throat, drawing their gazes away from each other, “what can I do for you?”

“I could not bear the thought of you leaving without our speaking.” She dropped onto the cot beside him, and he wrapped his arm around her without a second thought. “Is there no way you could stay any longer?”

“You know I cannot.”

“Even if I wrote to my father and asked him-”

“You know that he is not the issue. You were there when he made the arrangements.”

“I know, it is only wishful thinking.”

“Wait, you were privy to your father’s dealings?” Buccaneer’s brow creased as Olivier nodded. “I thought women in Amestris were-”

“Duke Armstrong could never say no to his angelic little daughter.” There was a lilt of amusement to Miles’ voice, giving away that he found Olivier to be very much not angelic.

“When I was a little child, I would slip away from my nursemaids and into my father’s meetings. The other men would be angry at being interrupted by a child, but my father would always laugh and pull me up into his lap. When I got older, he brought a stool in so I would not crush his legs, and then eventually a chair of my own. The others always ignored me when I spoke, but my father listened.”

“He sounds like an incredible man.”

“He is, truly.” Olivier smiled, but as quickly as she did, it vanished. 

“You miss him,” Miles stated more than asked, squeezing her arm gently.

“Every day.” She turned, burying her face in his shoulder.  

Buccaneer moved as though to console her, but stopped himself. “I will leave you two to say your goodbyes.” He got to his feet, making one more half-gesture toward touching her shoulder. “I won’t wait up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> As always, please let me know what you think.


	12. Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! I hope you enjoy this chapter, I threw it together as soon as I got a break from school.

Miles seemed to take Olivier’s happiness with him when he returned to Amestris, but she kept her chin up, determinedly reminding Buccaneer of his promise to take her to the council meeting. The agreed upon day came after nearly a week and the mood was a kind of somber nervousness as Olivier prepared. She wore a newly completed gown of dark blue--dyed with expensive imported indigo--and a fur capelet, her hair coiffed and decorated with bejewelled pins. She looked, Buccaneer thought, like a queen in her own right.

They walked arm and arm to the council chambers, but at the last moment he pulled into a secluded alcove. To her credit, she did not reach for her weapon, but her face was wary as he steered her into the corner.

“Remember what we talked about?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Tell me.”

She frowned, looking as though she wanted to argue, but replied, “stay by your side, say nothing, and keep your secrets.”

“Good.” He kissed her forehead. “Now, do not forget.”

She glared at him, but nodded. When he stepped back out into the hallway she followed, looping her arm back through his. To say the tribal leaders were stunned as they stepped into the chamber would be an understatement. Several opened their mouths as though to protest but thought better of it. 

“The princess requires a chair,” Buccaneer announced, cooly as though bored, but with an edge that dared anyone to challenge him. Clarese’s mouth set in a thin line, but she gestured to a servant who ducked out immediately. 

Olivier remained silent, as she was told, slowly taking in the tribal leaders There were twelve in all, not counting Buccaneer and Clarese, all men of wealth and status. 

“I did not know,” one said, tone oily, eyes on Clarese, “that we were allowed to bring our own entertainment.” 

“It would be unwise,” Buccaneer replied, forcing the man’s gaze to himself, “to belittle your future queen.”

Olivier smiled to herself as both the man’s and Clarese’s faces soured, but they were unable to rebuke him. 

The servant brought her chair, placing it beside Buccaneer’s, and she sat, smoothing her skirt carefully across her lap and surveying the room. Conversation began as soon as Buccaneer, himself, was seated beside her. It was stilted and awkward, topics danced around with furtive glances in her direction.

She listened intently, all the same, trying to piece together a better image of the internal structure of Briggs. They did not make it easy for her and the effort of straining to understand the rapid Drachmani paired with trying to remember who was who and which tribe had what gave her a headache.

There seemed to be a lot of debate about a decree, with a group of leaders whose extensively embroidered tunics and impeccable furs suggested a certain level of wealth in their tribes, advocating for it. The one who had called Olivier entertainment, seemed to be their spokesperson, the others leaning over to whisper to him before he would speak. Buccaneer listened more than he spoke, his mother often interjecting in a cold tone. The men deferred to her when she spoke, but shook their heads and rolled their eyes when she looked away.

All at once, Clarese spoke what sounded like a command and they all began to get to their feet, servants gathering up parchments and helping their lords into their cloaks. 

She blinked in surprise when Buccaneer’s arm appeared in her vision. She was bursting with questions, but did not want to look foolish in front of the tribal leaders. And besides, however ridiculous, she had promised to stay silent. 

“Well,  _ nula _ ?” Buccaneer asked when they returned to their chambers to rest and prepare for the evening meal. 

“Well what?” Olivier lowered herself onto the bed, rubbing her forehead tiredly. Her headache had intensified with every step.

“What did you think of the meeting?”

“I have many questions.”

“Really? It was all I could do to stay awake.”

“Tch!” She untied the fur capelet, not missing, even in her tired state, the way Buccaneer’s eyes were drawn to the low neck of her gown. “You are to be king, and you have no interest in the affairs of your people?”

“It isn’t that,” he protested, sinking down beside her, “I do care, but these meetings are just the same men spewing the same rhetoric in new, circular, ways.”

“What ideas were those?” She straightened slightly, “I could not understand enough of the conversation.”

“It’s the same old argument about the line of succession.” 

“Oh?”

“We are not an old monarchy, and our succession has been highly  _ fluid. _ There are those who would like me to make a decree ensuring our son would be heir.”

“Is that in question?”

“Not truly, but there is unrest.”

“Because your brother was denied his birthright?” 

“I-” Buccaneer hesitated, frowning, “-I suppose so. I had never thought of it that way. His mother was, afterall, a common woman.”

“I am a common woman.”

Buccaneer smiled unexpectedly, “you are anything but common,  _ nula _ . Regardless, you are a princess now, Vlad has no benefit from a formal union.”

“And this law specifically provides that there must be a union? Or only that  _ your  _ child would be king after you? Your brother is your father’s child, afterall.”

“I will have to ask, but for now we should rest. It will likely snow.”

She nodded, reclining and letting the warm bed lull her into a sleepy state she knew she would regret when she was roused, groggy and confused, for supper.

\---

The first snow of the season brought with it an air of excitement and the promise of ceremonies alongside, to Olivier’s complete shock, comments on how unusually long and warm the summer had been.

“Buccaneer?”

“Yes,  _ nula _ ?”

“I overheard earlier, and well, is it true that many years you do not even see the ground for the snow?”

Buccaneer paused in fastening his ceremonial cape to glance at her, not even trying to hide the amusement on his face. “We will usually see  _ some _ ground, but the snow rarely melts this much.” Her distress must have shown because his face changed suddenly to sympathetic and he closed the space between them in two quick strides, pulling his cape around her. “It is not so bad, you will see.”

She groaned quietly and pressed her face against his chest. “If snow is so common here, why must we have a ceremony? Outside of all things!”

He chuckled, “Once you have your cape and furs on you’ll be glad to be outside.”

She suppressed the urge to swear under her breath, straightening resolutely. “I suppose there is no point in delaying.” Even so she took her time donning the embroidered cape and fur head covering, knowing without looking back over her shoulder that Buccaneer was watching her with soft eyes. He seemed to do that a lot, however much he refused to allow himself to act on his desire. 

She took his arm and let herself be led out into the courtyard. Snowflakes, she had discovered, were not the soft cotton-like puffs she had imagined, but rather sharp and cold, abrading the skin of her face mercilessly. Her position beside and slightly behind Buccaneer provided a shelter from the wind without obscuring her entirely. She peered around him to watch the proceedings curiously, a combination of chanting and prayers to their ancestor when the sight of a woman made her gasp.

Buccaneer turned to her quirking a brow curiously. 

“Who is  _ that _ ?” 

He smiled at her whispered question. “Tricia? She is a wise woman, of the  _ Tanari  _ tribe.”

“She does not cover her head?”

He frowned, “you do not cover your head.” His shot them a look which they both ignored.

“Well, no, but my hair is not shorn.”

“Huh?”

“In my country when a woman’s hair is shorn it is a mark of shame, she must cover it until it grows out.”

“Oh. That is a bit silly isn’t it?” He smiled. “ _ Tanari _ women often shave their heads entirely, it is simply their way.” 

“I see.” She tried to nod noncommittally, but she was still staring in awe. 

Buccaneers lips twitched, “would you like to meet her? When the ceremony is over, I mean?”

“I-”

“I have met her several times and she is kind, if a little crafty.”

She shivered, “will she remain at the palace for long? I would rather meet her in the dining hall, or the throne room, even our chambers. Anywhere warm, in truth.”

He outright laughed at that. “Very well,  _ nula,  _ we shall have her for tea.”  

\---

The ever-increasing cold was both a bane and a blessing. Olivier shivered and, wrapped in thick layers, practically waddled through the day. Nights brought warmth in the form of Buccaneer’s body against hers. The thick feather-down blankets and furs trapped their heat, and she pressed into him, soaking it in. 

The weight of his arm grew slowly from crushing to comforting though she knew it never changed. Against the chill of the wind and sting of the snow she found his embrace to be the most effective shield. At first, she had to initiate their contact, but in time Buccaneer grew confident to embrace her as soon as they were both beneath the covers, pulling her to himself and pressing kisses to her head.

One night, in a particularly affectionate moment, she twisted around and caught his kiss with her lips. He went pink, but did not pull away and she shifted in his embrace to face him fully, deepening their kiss. His hands shifted on her body, feeling her curves with increasing boldness. She gasped as his big hands squeezed her backside.

“Sorry! I-”

“No, no, don’t apologize! I didn’t mind,” she kissed him, “in fact, I wouldn’t mind if you did it again.”

He looked surprised for a moment, then grinned, repeating the gesture. She gasped again, writhing and earning a soft chuckle. She reached around him attempting to return the favor, and instead made an important discovery as a shrill giggle escaped him.

“You’re ticklish!”

“I am not!” His protest was meaningless as her fingers danced across his back, pulling more giggles from him. 

“You are!” She laughed as flailed, nearly shoving her off the bed in his attempt to stop her. “You-” she broke off as he caught her wrists and with a mischievous grin flipped her onto her back, pinning her wrists to the bed above her head. 

They stared at each other a long moment, laughter dying away, replaced by a certain breathless feeling she couldn’t name. Buccaneer released her wrists, leaning down to kiss her again, her arms wrapping around his neck. He pushed himself up on his arm, angling his body to keep from crushing her under his bulk, his other hand running through her hair, fingers ever so softly stroking her cheek and neck. 

The press of their bodies brought something to the forefront that they had both largely been ignoring. Her thigh brushed against him and found a hardness that was not always present. He opened his mouth, though neither of them knew whether it was to apologize or something else entirely, but nothing came out. Her hand slid between them and cautiously cupped his shaft, sliding along the length, feeling him through the thin fabric of his nightshirt. He groaned, blushing brightly. She withdrew her hand, watching him watching her.

“What are you thinking? 

A flush spread across her cheeks to match his. “I-” she cleared her throat, “-I did not know it would be so-” she was growing pinker by the moment, blush spreading to her ears, “-I did not know what to expect.”

He smiled, though it was tinged with embarrassment. “I understand; when I first saw what was beneath a woman’s gown, I-”

Her face went through a few emotions too quickly for him to categorize before settling on coldly blank. “All that I went through to be certain that I was pure and untouched, and you-”

“Oh no, not like that!” He cut across her quickly, flushing impossibly redder. 

“What?” Her voice, like the stare piercing him, were cold as ice.

“You see-” he shifted off of her, fingers lingering in her hair, “-when I was first coming into manhood my father was, ah, displeased that I did not follow in his footsteps the way that Vlad did. One day, in a fit of what I can only assume was humor, he took me to the brothel that many of our noble men frequent.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “He told the women to ‘make a man out of me’. I’m sure it’s hard to imagine,” he gave a self-depreciating chuckle, “but I was quite shy in my youth, and I was terrified. She obviously felt sorry for me and we mostly talked, but she showed me herself.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it was not so horrible. An old humiliating memory, and nothing more.” 

Unexpectedly, she shifted to close the distance that had crept between them, kissing his lips softly. He smiled slightly, pulling her close and letting her warmth lull him into sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, please let me know what you think. :)
> 
> Also, feel free to check out my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/bydayandknight) for fic updates or to submit requests!


	13. A Council of Fools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! I hope you all enjoy this chapter.
> 
> Happy reading!

Out of her ceremonial robes, and in a simple gown, Tricia was smaller than Olivier had thought, huge eyes making her seem almost bug-like. She perched awkwardly on the edge of the receiving room chair and clutched her teacup like it was a lifeline. 

“I have not seen you in the courts, did you come to the palace only for the ceremony?” Olivier broke the uncomfortable silence with her best impression of her mother’s warm and soothing tone.

“No, I came to visit a cousin.”

“Ah.” They regarded one another. “Who is your cousin?”

“Lord Neil. He represents  _ Tanari _ at the Council of the Leaders.”

“Oh, I think I know who you mean. He looks a bit like you, yes?”

“Yes. Always in those-”

“Bizarrely mismatched tunics?” The potential for offense struck her only after the words left her mouth, but Tricia laughed.  

“Yes and so. I have tried many times to advise him on how to dress, but he is a stubborn one.” 

“Who is the man he is often with?” 

“Lord Dolcetto, my wife’s brother.” 

Olivier controlled her face carefully, not letting her shock show. In spite of what Buccaneer had told her, she was amazed and delighted to hear such a think spoken of so openly. “Is your wife at the palace?”

Tricia shook her head. “No, Martel prefers to avoid the palace; she finds it a bit too formal for her taste.”

“A woman after my own heart.” 

“Oh?” Tricia tilted her head, surprise evident. “You seem so poised. Elegant. The last time Martel came with me, she managed to offend a good few nobles with her manner.” 

“Which ones? There are several I would love to offend.”

Tricia laughed. “I believe you already have. From what I understand, Lord Gardner has been most displeased with your presence at the Council meetings.”

“Ah, yes. He pretends so at any rate, but his eyes tell another story.”

“Oh?”

“He can scarcely tear them away from my bosom; it is a wonder he looks at anything else at all.”

Tricia snorted derisively. “He is a man motivated by greed and lust and little else.”

“Greed?”

“His tribe borders mine. For many years we relied heavily on trade with Drachma, but when it was decided we would ally to Amestris instead, he was meant to clear a section of his people’s land and allow us free passage South to do our trading.”

Olivier’s fingers clenched on her teacup. “And he has not?” 

She shook her head. “We are not warring people, though now our men must defend our border. We have neither the time nor the resources to force such a large and wealthy tribe to uphold their word. I have come to help my cousin petition the Queen, but an audience has not been easy to obtain and so long as the border is protected, we are of little importance.”

“You cannot trade at all?”

“We can, but he taxes our people heavily. We have little choice but to pay, and soon there will be nothing left to trade.”

“Will your tribe survive the winter?” 

“Without help? We fear we will not.” 

“What does Gardner hope this will accomplish?”

“Fealty. Like your Amestrian lordships. He believes we will bend before we break; we have children and elderly, and there must be food and shelter for them.” 

Olivier’s fingers coiled in a fist, nails digging into her palms. “Such cruelty to one’s own countrymen is inexcusable, especially in pursuit of something so banal as power.”

Tricia nodded slightly, “and yet we are powerless. Even when we humble ourselves enough to ask for aid, there is none who hears our plight.”

“I hear you.” Olivier smiled, a twisted bitter smile. “Small comfort though that may be.”

\---

The last person Buccaneer was expecting to see in the stables as he came in from a hunt with Sir Dolcetto was Vlad. He handed his stead off to a stable hand, and crossed to him in surprise. 

“Why are you here?” His nose wrinkled at the ever-increasing stench of alcohol that followed his brother everywhere he went. 

Vlad grunted “didn’t know I needed to give account to you.”

“You don’t; I am merely surprised to see you here.” 

The older man turned away, hunching his shoulders, and fumbling with his flask of wine. Buccaneer followed his gaze, found nothing, and knowing his brother turned to see what he was  _ not _ looking at. Tall as they both were, it was easy enough to find the airflow window between the tops of the stalls and he moved to look through it. Across the way, in a stall opposite, Olivier was grooming Maya, looking stunning in a simple gown and dark wool overdress. 

“Are you watching my wife?” Anyone else who knew him would have backed away at his quiet tone, recognizing the subtle danger within, but Vlad was unbothered. 

“Someone needs to.”

“And what do you mean by that?” 

“You run about with your lords and leaders and you have no idea what she’s up to, who has their eyes on that body.”

Buccaneer frowned, “are you actually trying to warn me?”

“All your life you run to your mother like a little baby, and she handles all of your problems. You haven’t the faintest idea what to do when you care about one of your problems.”

“What?”

“You’ve been coddled, Mother running about and dealing with all your problems one way or another, and you do not care to look and see who is being crushed beneath your feet.”

“Are you-” he frowned, tilting his head, “-jealous? I thought you were glad to be rid the responsibilities of the throne, free as you are to imbibe in wine and women.”

Vlad snorted, “yes, because the older is always glad to yield his power and position to the younger on the grounds his mother was a whore.”  

“You are too much in the wine, my brother-”

“It is not so easy for some of us! From the day you were born, you were given every advantage, your opponents destroyed, and your weaknesses covered up!”

“You know not of what you speak!”

“It is you who does not know! And your biggest fucking weakness is a stone’s throw away.” Shaking his head, Vlad turned away. “Just remember who is to blame when she is bleeding at your feet.”

Buccaneer moved to strike his brother, to demand an explanation, but was halted by his name spoken in a querying voice by the very woman they had been speaking of. He turned to see her peering around the edge of the aisle, her hand hovering at her hip. “Is all well? I heard raised voices.”

“All is well,  _ nula, _ no need to fear.”

“Haven’t you noticed?” Vlad turned back to mutter too quietly for her to hear. “She has no fear: you’ll have to have it for her.”

He watched his brother walk away, confused and unsettled. Olivier’s hand came to rest on his arm, and he smiled uncertainly at her. “He is drunk, nothing else.” She looked at him, long and hard, but did not question him. He took her hand, noticing not for the first time, how small it was. “I suppose we should make our way up to the palace and prepare for the council meeting.”

\---

Her head was throbbing. She was no longer surprised by this, every meeting ending in a dull ache just behind her eyes, but it frustrated her all the same. Buccaneer had the same glazed-over look that half the room wore, and she resisted the urge to kick him sharply.

“We can send fifty more men to the border, My Queen,” Lord Dolcetto spoke more clearly than many of the others, “but no more lest we leave our villages undefended.”

“We must have at least a hundred more; there is truly no one else you can spare?”

“No, My Queen, at least not without aid.”

“We could surely aid you, Dolcetto.” Gardner offered, waving a hand magnanimously. “I will send one of my men to work out the details.”

“A most generous offer, however-” Lord Dolcetto looked a bit, Olivier privately thought, like a pup desperately wanting to please it’s master, but unhappy with what he was being asked.

“I know it is a blow to one’s pride to accept such help, but surely your pride does not matter more than the security of our borders.”

“Certainly, My Queen-”

“Then you ought to have no reason to hesitate.”

The man’s face was plainly torn and Olivier waited for him to explain himself, to stand up for the Tanari tribe, to do  _ something _ . Yet, the moment passed and he drew a deep breath, opening his mouth to accept his fate.

“Perhaps if Lord Gardner did not so extort his sister tribe the offer of aid could be taken as a true offer and not an attempt to bring the Tanari under his thumb.” 

The silence that followed her words was suffocating in its heaviness. She had broken her promise and she tensed as Buccaneer straightened beside her. Clarese was staring at her as though attempting to drive a knife through her heart with the power of thought alone. 

“What?”

If she followed her husband’s religion she would be praying to her ancestors at his question, voice revealing nothing, forcing her to explain herself. She wondered momentarily if the floor could possibly, by some miracle, open up and swallow her. 

“The Tanari were promised free and open trade when they backed the alliance with Amestris. Instead, they are taxed for use of the trade routes. They can spare no others for they have both young and elderly to care for and may soon be unable to.” 

There was silence while this was digested and then a murmur began spreading through the room. Buccaneer silenced it almost at once. “Is this true?” Dolcetto opened his mouth, but Buccaneer fixed his gaze on Gardner. “Well?”

“Well, My Prince, it is a complicated matter. I hardly think a woman could understand-”

Buccaneer rose, looming large over the council.  _ “Is this true?” _

The little color in Gardner’s wrinkled face drained away. “I would not call it  _ extortion, _ My Prince-”

“You think me a fool?”

“Not a fool, My Prince, but perhaps a little infatuated. Your wife, I am sure, means well, but a foreign woman cannot be expected to grasp the complexities of our system.” 

“We have greedy fools in Amestris, too.” Someone, she knew not who, gasped. “You are not so complex as you believe yourself to be.” 

Gardner got to his feet, directing himself to Clarese. “My Queen, I implore you, have this disruptive influence removed!”

Olivier rose as well, ignoring Buccaneer’s heavy foot coming down on hers. “Are you frightened to see your lies exposed?” 

“Archer, please escort-”

“She stays.”

“What?” Clarese looked almost comically shocked at her son’s interruption. Olivier could relate, her heart racing.

“I said  _ she stays. _ ” Buccaneer’s voice was level, but decisive. The atmosphere in the room had gone from tense and watchful to downright terrified in a matter of moments. 

“I see.” She was silent a moment, anger on her face. “We will not discuss this now. In fact, we will discuss nothing now. This council is dismissed.”   

For a moment no one moved, too stunned to even think of it and then Buccaneer had her arm and was practically pulling her out the door. She didn’t look at him as they walked. He was stone-faced and silent, anyway. He didn’t stop until they were in their inner chambers, the door bolted behind them. He released her and drew a deep breath.

“Buccaneer?” He nodded at her, but said nothing. “You are angry?”

“No. At least not at you. I am, however, terrified.”

“Because you took my side? Against your mother?” 

He nodded, trying to read her face. “It was not about sides,  _ nula; _ you were right. I have long known Gardner to be a greedy man. Even so, I chose simply to trust he was honoring his word and never looked into it.” He sighed. “Do you have any idea how much of a risk you just took?”

“Yes.”

He eyed her for a moment, searching for some lie or untrustworthiness, before reaching out to embrace her, closing his eyes and resting his head against hers. “Good. I will not lecture you, then, though I suppose you would not listen if I did. I will simply implore you to be careful. I know you do not believe me, but I do love you.” 

“I believe you.” 

His eyes snapped open at the quiet words and she felt him suddenly stiffen, stepping back slightly without releasing her. “In truth?”

She nodded and then the distance between them was closed, her lips pressed to his.  She skipped over the chaste tenderness of many of their kisses, one arm hooking around his neck while her other hand tugged at his braid which seemed to set something in him alight, his kiss growing firmer, his hands starting to roam. 

She rocked against him as he grabbed at her hips, knowing better than to touch her back. His hands slid around to squeeze her backside and in a moment of what could only be extreme bravery from the man, he gripped her thighs and lifted her off the ground. Her skirts slid around beneath his hands and he nearly dropped her, but she tightened her grip on his neck and, with a thrust and wiggle of her hips, had her legs wrapped around his waist. 

He staggered toward their bed, dropping her onto the embroidered coverlet. She tried to pull him with, but he planted his arms beside her. She watched him, thinking he looked almost wild this way: panting slightly, flushed, his eyes wide and dark. 

“Olivier,” he spoke her name softly, almost reverently, “ are you certain-”

She smiled, her stomach in knots not unpleasant, “yes, My Prince, come and take your pleasure.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes. Next chapter will feature /smut/. :D
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please drop me a line and let me know what you think.


	14. Both Heaven and Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Lovelies! 
> 
> Is it really another update so soon? It is! And as promised...smut. ^^
> 
> Happy reading!

She hadn’t expected him to be so hesitant. Buccaneer leaned down to kiss her again, shaking hands cupping her face. She smiled, trying to mask her nerves and not knowing if it worked. 

“Don’t you think we are a little overdressed?”  

He swallowed audibly and nodded, but made no move to rectify the situation until she raised her eyebrows. He stepped back from the bed, unhooking the clasp of his cape and letting it fall seemingly without even realizing it had. Her stomach twisted as he pulled his tunic up and over his head, exposing his muscled chest. He reached for the waist of his trousers and then hesitated again, his blush somehow deepening.

She sat up, her hair crackling and flying around her, and began to fumble with laces that she could swear were never so difficult. Her face felt hot and she realized Buccaneer wasn’t the only one with trembling fingers. Excitement and fear were blended together in a ball in her stomach and a desire stronger than she had ever felt before was pooling at the apex of her thighs. 

At last, she had loosened the gown and it pooled around her waist. She rose, slipping out of it, and kicking it aside. Buccaneer’s eyes fixed on her form as though he had never seen it before. She flushed in spite of herself, not accustomed to such brazen appreciation. With determined movements she removed her shift and underthings, avoiding eye contact. Overcoming her unexpected bashfulness, she raised her head to see Buccaneer had shed his trousers, and was now as bare as she was.

Her stomach flipped and her heart beat a little faster as she looked at him, looking at her. A thin trail of hair led down his belly to a thick patch of dark curls, his cock was hard and dark, standing proudly out. He was frozen in place and she crossed to him, running her hands over his bare chest for a moment, then pressing herself against him. He startled as though she had poured cold water over him and his cock jumped against her. 

He guided her onto the bed again, this time actually following. She closed her eyes as he crawled over her. Her mother had assured her it would not hurt for very long, but that did little to assuage her nerves in the moment. She was surprised to feel his lips on hers again, his hands running down her sides. She opened her eyes again as he moved his hands to her breasts, feeling a bit smug at the look of awe on his face. 

His thumbs skimmed over her nipples sending an unexpected wave of hot pleasure through her and the smug feeling vanished as a moan slipped, unbidden, from her lips. He lowered his head, first pressing kisses to her throat and then moving down, lips joining his hands in exploring every inch of her chest. Several more noises of surprise and pleasure escaped her as he experimented, and the hot, slick, desire between her legs intensified. 

Buccaneer sat back and looked at her, his face half proud, half dazed, and fully red. She reached out grabbed his cock, amused a little at how quickly his face slackened. It was purely guesswork, but she squeezed slightly, running her hand over the shaft. She was rewarded with a groan of sheer pleasure. She repeated the gesture and he gasped.

“Wait!”

She lowered her hand, wondering if she had offended him somehow. Perhaps she was too bold, seemed loose. Men were strange about these things, she had been told more than once. He scrambled to his feet.

“I have-” he dug in the chest beside the bed, producing a vial “-here.” He pulled the cork out of the vial and poured the contents onto his hand. The sweet smell of perfumed oil reached her nose almost at once. He crawled back onto the bed somewhat awkwardly, attempting to avoid spilling the liquid. “It is to help with-” he trailed off, the blush that had receded back in full force, and made a gesture toward her that she understood well enough. “Is it alright if I-?” 

She nodded, too nervous to speak, and let her thighs fall open. He was silent and still for a long moment, and she fought to suppress the feelings of shame and uncertainty at her exposed, vulnerable, state. Just before she gave in to her nerves and slammed her legs shut, his fingers, slick with oil, touched her. She gasped as he softly spread the fluid across her sensitive folds.

He twisted his hand slightly, his middle finger pressed against her opening, his thumb on the pink nub above, sending a shockwave through her. “May I?” She nodded, not even fully aware of what he was asking. “It should help.” She nodded again and the digit pushed in, his thumb rubbing gently across her most sensitive place. Her back arched, and she gasped at the sensations rushing through her. 

His finger slid easily in and out, his thumb continuing to rub across her clit and she was overwhelmed, sounds she had certainly never made before escaping her. An unexpected flare of disappointment shot through her when his fingers slipped out, leaving her wet and quivering. Buccaneer leaned down to kiss her lips again. 

“A-are-” his voice wavered and he cleared his throat, “-are you ready?”

She nodded, rendered speechless in the haze of her own lust. He shifted, repositioning himself evenly between her legs, fumbling a bit as he lined himself up. She raised her hips to help him when he gripped them, holding her breath as his tip pushed against her and then in. The sensation as he sheathed himself in her was not, she realized after a breathless moment, pain. A kind of discomfort, rather, unpleasant, but not unbearable. She focused on her breathing, waiting for whatever would come next.

Buccaneer, it seemed, had frozen in place, his face one of overwhelmed bliss. She bit her lip. For all that she had been told her duty was solely to lay back and think of Amestris, she was certain there was meant to be some form of motion, and they couldn’t  _ both _ do nothing. She shifted her hips trying to relieve the discomfort and chasing the sensations from before. It worked, sending a wave of hot pleasure through her, the knot in her stomach coiling intensely. 

A grin spread across Buccaneer’s face as he mirrored her action, hips rocking as he pulled out and thrust in again. It took a few tries to get it just right, nervous chuckles escaping him as he fumbled, but then he slipped in smoothly, tip hitting a place inside her that made her gasp, his wiry curls rubbing across her clit.

“Like that!” She wrapped her legs around him, an unconscious attempt to keep him in position.

He laughed breathlessly, but obeyed, thrusting again, a shaky moan escaping him. Tension was rising in her stomach, heat spreading through her, and she bucked against him. Buccaneer’s face twisted strangely, looking almost pained, and he gave a stuttering groan, thrusting suddenly faster and harder. The tension in her stomach was spreading through her body, waves of tingling heat stretching all the way to her curling toes, when he suddenly went slack above her, moaning softly. 

A frustrated whine left her lips and she dug her heels into his back, even as she dimly registered his member growing soft, hot fluid leaking down her legs. He exhaled shakily, but dutifully slid his hand between them, not complaining about the mess, and rubbed her just as he had before. She could think of nothing, her mind going blissfully blank at the pleasure he evoked. 

Awareness returned slowly. She was shivering, could feel the bed moving as Buccaneer hauled himself up. She reached out, fumbling for a blanket to warm herself.

“Wait just a moment,  _ nula. _ ” Buccaneer padded across the room, and she heard the clanking of water pitcher and basin, but she couldn’t be bothered to raise her head or heavy limbs to see what he was doing. In a moment he was back, careful hands weilding a damp cloth to clean the fluid from between her legs. She would have blushed, but it seemed pointless now. She wasn’t sure what he did with the cloth, but she didn’t care as he crawled back into bed and pulled the blankets over them both. 

“Are you well?” 

“Hmm?”

“I know it can be  _ unpleasant _ -”

“It wasn’t.”

“Indeed?” He sounded immensely pleased at her response.

“Indeed,” she agreed drowsily, “now, let us sleep.” It was the nature of these things, she thought ruefully, no sooner had she spoken there was an incessant knocking at the door. “Ignore it,” she murmured as Buccaneer moved to get up. He kissed her head.

“I suspect it is my mother’s guard. I will go and see.”

She was awake at once, sitting up. “Should I dress?” 

“I bolted the door,” he assured, grabbing his trousers off the floor. The knocking grew louder. “I will be back soon, _nula._ ” He threw on his tunic and grabbed his cloak. “Get some sleep.” 

She didn’t feel at all like sleeping as she watched him go.

\---

It was, as he had suspected, Archer pounding on the door. He didn’t give the other man a chance to speak, not wanting to so much as hear his voice, taking off toward the Queen’s chambers instead. Further confirming his suspicions, Archer neither complained nor suggested he return to bring Olivier with him.

Clarese was standing by the window when he was permitted to enter her chambers, looking out it, but he doubted she was truly seeing anything. He knelt on one knee, bringing his fisted right hand to his chest.

“My Queen.” He did not dare call her his mother in that moment. She turned away from the window, gesturing to Archer who presumably bowed out of the room, the door closing with a loud thud behind him. 

“I thought you had forgotten.”

“Forgotten?” He raised his eyes, but remained where he was as she looked coolly down at him.

“That I am your queen still.”

“I-”

“I am used to a certain level of disrespect; I know what can be tolerated and what I must quash. A few years ago I would have thought you were simply in a stage of youthful rebellion, but this? Do you grow impatient to rule?”

“No, My Queen.” He spoke the truth. He had seen how slowly, but surely, the crown had destroyed his mother. 

“Soon enough you will be ready and the tribes will permit your coronation. Until then, we cannot be so divided.”

“Yes, My Queen.”

“Do you think it wise to interfere with the leader of a tribe so influential as Lord Gardner?” 

“He puts us at jeopardy with his greed, My Queen.”

“The Tanari would have given in eventually. It is no matter whether they must swear fealty or not, so long as they do not cede the border.” He chose not to point out that it mattered very much to the Tanari. She went on, “now, however, they will be most unruly. We have no hope of appeasing them without angering Gardner. All thanks to your wife. Even her interference could have, perhaps, been smoothed over if you had only taken her in hand.”

Fear rushed through him. “You do not intend-”

“She does not respond to such corrections, it would seem, though I would be well within my right.” 

“Thank you, My Queen.”

“Do not thank me, my son. It is an ineffective solution. If she will not be controlled, she must be contained.” 

“How so?”

“I have given the palace guard orders, she is not to leave your chambers. I will have food delivered to her and you will be free to come and go as you please, but no one else shall go in. I will be personally monitoring her letters.”

To her it would be a fate worse than death. “For how long?”

“Until I am certain she can be trusted.”

“And if she resists?” Because she would.

“I think she will find the accomodations in the cells to be less pleasant.”

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. “Please, Mother, there must be another way.”

“She has brought this on her own head, my son, and you have played your part as well. If you had listened to me from the beginning this may have never happened.”

It was jarring to be told twice in as many days that he was responsible for Olivier’s fate when he knew full well there was no point in standing in her way. “Yes, My Queen.” His knee was aching from kneeling on the cold floor, but she had not invited him to rise and she was in a dangerous mood.

“I trust I will have your full support going forward?”

“Yes, My Queen.” He had no choice but to agree. 

“Excellent. Now, my son, go and comfort your wife. Perhaps even take her a gift, show her that if she cooperates it needn’t be so miserable an experience.” She smiled slightly, but it did not reach her eyes. “Perhaps she will even learn to perform her wifely duties.”

He bowed his head and rose, departing without another word. As he walked toward his chambers he thought of the woman he had left there, gloriously naked and practically glowing. He thought, too, of what he knew of duty and rather thought he prefered her as she was, wild, willing, and even a little demanding. He almost didn’t want to be the one to tell her what had been decided about her. But, someone had to. Better he soften the blow as best he could than let a more cruel guard let her know when she tried to step outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, please drop a note.


	15. Never Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! It's a break at my university so I have a present for you all! 
> 
> Happy reading!

Time slipped away from her, spiraling and distorting unfathomably. At times, the nights stretched, long and black, only Buccaneer’s snoring assuring her lifetimes were not passing her by. Others, she blinked only for Buccaneer to return from a full day’s worth of meetings seemingly moments after he had left. Rage filled her in sudden waves, uncontrollable and unpredictable, and she lashed out, bruising and bloodying her fists on the stone walls, or else splintering the posters of the bed with her sword. The bed seemed suffocating when she would fall into it, her aching body refusing to let her sleep and she tossed and turned, or rose to pace in circles as the walls grew nearer and nearer together.

In the early days, when she still remembered what days were, Buccaneer would tell her about the day’s happenings and ask for her thoughts and advice. Often, they would make love, a sweet and soft distraction from her imprisonment. Eventually, though, she grew listless hearing without listening, growing confused and disoriented, unable to follow along with the simplest narrative. Lovemaking became laying in one another’s arms and then Buccaneer simply watching over her while she slept, sprawled over the bed, spurning the blankets and even the softest of touches as too heavy, adding as they were to the constant sense of the air itself pressing down on her, every breath labored.

He worried for her, she knew, could see it on his face every time he caught a glimpse of her knuckles, scabs opened again almost as soon as they were formed, or found her curled on the floor as helpless and desperate as she felt. Still she was beyond the point of being able to put on a front, not even able to summon the energy to dress herself most days. Buccaneer offered her diversions just as he had when they were first wed, but none were able to hold her focus. Her mind instead returned again and again to the darkest parts of her despair.

“ _ Nula? _ ” 

She hadn’t heard him come him. She turned her head slowly toward Buccaneer, the room flying back into focus and resuming it’s true proportions. 

He smiled thinly. “A letter came for you today. Here,” he extended it and she sat up, blinking in a vain attempt to clear the fog from her head. He pressed the letter into her hand and she unfolded the parchment, some vague part of her mind wondering if she had replied to the last letter she had received. She wasn’t certain, but then she was sure of so little it hardly mattered. 

Gradually the ink on the page swam into order and she was able to comprehend it:  _ “Dearest Olivier- _ ” it was Amue’s handwriting she realized,  _ “-I am afraid to tell you this is not a felicitous letter. Mother and Father did not think we ought to write you, yet Gine and I could not bear to think of you not knowing lest something should happen.”  _ Dread pricked at her through the veil of Amue’s overwrought prose and the buzzing in her own head.  _ “It is about Miles-”  _ the parchment began to shake and it was a moment before she realized it was her own hand trembling  _ “-he was wounded and I know not how, but they brought him in on a stretcher long after the household had taken our rest. Though we feared he would not last the night, it is morning and he still lives. He was brought by squires and we await Lord Raven’s emissary to bring an explanation. Father has his very own physician tending to him and we are taking turns to sit at his bedside, though I cannot say if he knows it. His mother has just arrived and I must go gather salts and a fan for I fear she may faint. I will write again as soon as I know more. Love always, your sister, Amue.” _

The numb nothingness that consumed her seemed to swell for a moment, and she stared blankly at the letter, and then like a dam bursting rage, helplessness, despair and guilt rushed through her. She wasn’t aware of making fists, her arms rising and falling to pound the mattress beneath her, but a satisfying sting rushed through hands as fragile skin tore open. 

“Olivier!” Buccaneer’s alarm only served to further her outburst and she beat the bed again and again. Her chest felt tight and breathing was near impossible; her eyes stung with tears she would not shed and her ears rang. 

“My fault-” she choked out around the lump in her throat. 

“What?” Buccaneer touched her shoulder and she jerked away, smearing blood across the coverlet.

Her body heaved, the world spinning as she tried to form words. Only gasps escaped her lips, and she clawed at her chest and throat. She was drowning in spittle and unshed tears, the weight of her own guilt, her own uselessness, crushing the life out of her. A nail caught on the flesh of her chest and she ripped it, the sting sharp and satisfying but bringing no greater capacity to breathe. 

Buccaneer was shouting her name, muffled and distant but plainly alarmed. She tore at her throat, gasping soundlessly for air and receiving only a fresh trickle of blood when she caught a dry patch and peeled away the skin. Arms encircled her and she thrashed, no longer in control of her limbs, kicking and striking at the bonds, heedless of the grunts of pain her blows elicited. She was damp with sweat, her body writhing and contorting, hands scratching and clawing. 

“Olivier!” Buccaneer grabbed at her hands, pinning them against her chest. “Olivier! Stop it! You’re hurting yourself!” Her heel connected sharply with what could only be his shin and he hissed in pain, but did not release her, only readjusted his grip, pulling her back against his chest and shifting his hands to her wrists forcing her sharp nails away from herself. “ _ Nula, _ if you can hear me you need to breathe, alright? Just try to breathe.”

She shook her head, the ringing in her ears only growing worse and arched her back, trying to break his grip, her feet scrambling for purchase, slipping on the coverlet and thumping dully against what could only be his legs.

He grunted again, from pain or exertion she did not know. “Inhale, my love.” She was beyond reason` and he knew it. Her head shook, if she could find her voice she would tell him she could not. “You can and you must,  _ nula.  _ Feel my chest, how it rises and falls? Just inhale.”

Summoning all the strength she had, she sucked in a breath, air flooding her and quieting the roar in her head to a hum. “Good. Now exhale.” She did, earning another soft praise and an unexpected flood of tears. Her limbs trembled, but her thrashing slowed, desperation leeching away. With his guidance, and sobs loosening her chest, she began to breathe again, shakily and shallowly at first, and then slowly, bit by bit, deepening into an even rhythm. 

Slowly, Buccaneer relaxed his hold, guiding her gently down to lay on her side, curling protectively around her, fingers still wrapped loosely around her wrists, not fully trusting the fit had subsided. She coughed and shuddered, tears still running down her face no matter how hard she tried to stop them. His voice rumbled in his chest as he murmured soft assurances, his breath warm against her neck and sending shivers through her. She pressed back against him, seeking warmth. She did not know if she slept or was awake, only that when she slipped into awareness again Buccaneer’s arms were still around her.

\---

Buccaneer was almost giddy when he entered three days later. She knew it was three days only because Buccaneer had roused her each morning and insisted on helping her bathe and dress. Nothing had been said outright, but she suspected the time spent so close to each other had revealed just how filthy she had allowed herself to become. 

He kissed her softly and took her hands in his. “I have been speaking with my mother and I have a bit of good news.”

“Oh?” 

“It isn’t much,” he cautioned, squeezing her hands gently, “however I persuaded her to let me take you for a walk around the courtyard. There’ll be a guard watching us, but I thought you would want to be out in the sun and the wind.” 

“I would like that very much,” she blinked back unexpected tears and smiled a little up at him. 

His smile split his face from ear to ear and pulled her to her feet. “Come on,  _ nula, _ you will want to bundle up as warm as you can, it is still very cold.”

She wrapped herself in capes and furs as instructed and took his arm. The courtyard was as cold as she expected and empty save for the guard walking a short distance behind them, but to Olivier it was everything. The cold mountain wind stung her skin and the sunlight was far brighter than she thought anything she had ever seen could have been, and she squinted against the vibrant white glow of the snow. 

“Thank you,” she rose on her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips, “but how-?”

“I have been making nice with the court. In your country, when a child is good their mother rewards them, yes?” She nodded, but did not look reassured. To distract her, he leaned down and kissed her again. It worked only because she wanted it to, but he was satisfied.

All too soon, the guard was gesturing to him that they needed to return to their chambers. They went as slowly as they dared and he could see some of the happiness draining from her face, no matter how hard she tried to conceal it. Even so, she embraced him as soon as they were safely in their chambers again, hands and lips moving with a familiar intensity. They left a trail of shed clothing on their way to their bed, relishing in the feel of skin on skin, escalating touches until he was flat on his back, gasping and moaning in time with the rhythm of her hips. If it didn’t feel so wonderful, he would be embarrassed by how quickly he came, the world fading in blissful white.

She slumped on top of him and he rubbed her back as he came back to awareness. “By my ancestors, what did I ever do to deserve you?”

A harsh little laugh escaped her, “I think being born a royal has something to do with it.” She rolled off him, but stayed tucked under his arm. He raised his head to glance at her, but she was staring up at the canopy. He looked up at it, too, but it was the same embroidered velvet as always. “I have been putting on weight, had you noticed?”

He felt a flush coming on and he cleared his throat, he  _ had  _ noticed but he was not about to say so. “You have been confined, it is only-”

“That is not what I mean.” There was amusement in her voice, and he glanced at her curiously. “How long have I been here?” 

“ _ Nula-” _

“Longer than a month?” Her eyes were boring into him as he deliberated. At last he nodded. “I thought so.” 

He pushed himself up to lay on his side, looking down at her in concern. “Why do you ask?” 

“As long as I have been confined to these chambers I have not bled.”

“What?”

Surprisingly, she blushed a little, “every month a woman-”

“No, I know that!” He was blushing, too. “I just don’t understand-” he trailed off. He thought maybe he  _ did  _ understand, but it was almost unfathomable.

She drew a deep breath, and rested a hand on her stomach, raising her eyes slowly to meet his. “I think I might be with child.”

“Oh.” He nodded slowly, before it truly hit him.  _ “Oh!” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and please let me know what you think. <3


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